


Love Bites

by DasMervin, MrsHyde (DasMervin)



Series: The Writing on the Wall [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Dean, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Angels don't understand consent, Angry Dean, Angry Sex, Apologies, Awesome Bobby, BAMF Castiel, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bobby is an awesome dad, Bobby puts up with so much crap, Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaker Dean, Cas is an idiot, Castiel is a brat, Come Shot, Come Swallowing, Comfort Sex, Comforting Dean, Cuddling, Dean is a sap, Destiel - Freeform, Dominant Dean, Drunk Dean, Dubious Consent, Emotional Dean, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Feels, Forceful Dean, Frottage, Groping, Guilt, Guilty Dean, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Headcanon, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, I Love You, Intercrural Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Lube, M/M, Makeup Sex, Making Out, Non-Consensual Spanking, Oblivious Castiel, Oral Sex, Physical Abuse, Regret, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Abuse, Simultaneous Orgasm, Slash, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Submissive Castiel, Submissive Dean, THAT WAS NOT OKAY, Uncomfortable Dean, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/DasMervin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/MrsHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you take an alcoholic hunter who bottles up his anger until he can’t contain it any longer and pair him up with a needy ex-angel who refuses to acknowledge that any kind of sex can be “wrong”, it is inevitable that disaster will strike. A set of fics chronicling the darkest time in Dean and Cas’s relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Free For All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a hunt goes bad for Dean, he decides to take out his frustration on the nearest object he can find. Too bad that object is Cas.

Notes: 

> Oh, God. Seriously, just move along—don’t read this fic. Nothing to see here, pretend this never happened. You never saw this.
> 
> Okay, fine. I’ll explain my shame. This next fic is another one of mine, Das Mervin, and I have…a dubcon fetish.
> 
> Yeah, I know it’s a huge fetish in the fandom circle. Yeah, I know there’s no kink or fetish shaming. And I’m not shaming it—I am simply saying I have the dubcon fetish, and there is no argument that it’s kind of controversial. I also know you guys know exactly where I’m going with this. We started writing more fic on “Writing on the Wall” just to indulge in our fetishes.
> 
> Stands to reason that I would find a way to work that one in as well.
> 
> I like rough, violent sex that’s angry, full of hair-pulling and name-calling, and usually ends up with a lot of regrets in the morning. So, no joke, I sent Dean on a very bad hunt, got him drunk, and made him…do this.
> 
> I’m not gonna lie—I’m vaguely ashamed of this fic. I was very tempted to not post it at all, mostly because, after all of the sweetness we posted with “Coming Back to Life”, this one is such a stark contrast to it and it doesn’t feel like there is a lot of time between the two. But I…am a dirty pervert, and I like reading about that kind of sex, so…
> 
> I just wanna make one thing quite clear—what Dean does here _is in no way okay_. There is no justification for it, and I’m not trying to say it’s okay. That’s the whole _point_. Dean gets drunk and takes it out on Cas; he is a bad person and he should feel bad. And then there’s Cas—his attitude towards Dean is not healthy, because it’s _never_ been healthy. In canon, save for very rare moments when Cas bows up and lashes out at Dean, he always, _always_ takes whatever crap Dean flings at him, whatever abuse Dean hurls at him, and comes crawling back to him asking for more. And yes, Dean does abuse Cas in canon—he emotionally abuses him on a regular basis, despite the fact that he considers him his brother—one might even argue that that’s why Dean feels free to abuse him like he does. Theirs is not a healthy relationship, and even though we’ve added romance to the mix in his universe, that’s not gonna magically _make_ it healthy. There is no such thing as a healthy relationship in the world of “Supernatural”, particularly ones that involve Dean Winchester. 
> 
> Really, this fic could be seen a study of just how bad their relationship could get. Dean and Cas are still the messed-up brothers they’ve always been in canon, but we’ve added in some severe guilt issues as a side effect of humanity for Cas, and then tried to add in some romance on top of all that, and that makes for one very volatile mix. So here we have Cas basically thinking the sun shines out of Dean’s ass and that he can do no wrong except for very rare occasions, while Dean still tends to take him for granted, not to treat him as a proper romantic partner, and not realize just how much power he holds in their relationship. They aren’t healthy. They’re in a better place, but they are _not_ healthy. They’ve been “lucky” so far, in that Dean is a fundamentally good guy and he does care about Cas, both in the familial and romantic sense; despite his internal griping, he is very rarely cruel to Cas. But that doesn’t change the fact that the potential for their dysfunction to erupt has always been there—and here is where we wrote it happening.
> 
> But really, the reason why I ultimately decided to go ahead and post this fic is for the aftermath. So many of you guys love Bobby in this series, and this particular set showcases that. I just wanted everyone to see that Bobby is the most awesome dad on the planet who watches out for his dumb adopted son who doesn’t realize just how Not Okay what Dean did to him was. And also so you guys can see that Cas is a huge brat and it’s a miracle Bobby hasn’t strangled him yet (hey, it’s canon: angels are the biggest. brats. ever.).
> 
> I’ll sum up. _I’m_ a bad person and _I_ should feel bad. This is a fetish piece—nothing but. It inadvertently leads to…better things through the course of these continuation fics, granted, but at its heart, this is a dirty, wrong, shameful fetish piece and you don’t have to read it if you don’t want to. Yeah, I know it’s very, _very_ tame compared to what can go on—and compared to what I myself have written (I’m sure at least some of you have seen “[Standard Procedure](http://archiveofourown.org/works/759989),” which I actually wrote _after_ this fic; that’s how long I’ve been sitting on this guy). However, the main issue is that this comes so quickly after the end of “Coming Back to Life”. Timeline-wise, it’s actually two _years_ after “Coming Back to Life”. But to you guys, it’s only the second fic. “Coming Back to Life” was just all sweetness and “Get It Up” was an immediate dose of pure, almost playful porn, so I wanted to warn you ahead of time so that this darker fic isn’t too much of a nasty shock. I am completely cool with anyone thinking this is just wrong (because it is). You can skip this one; you won’t miss anything if you just treat this as an AU to our AU and pretend it never happened, and there will be plenty more happy-fun-times porn to follow for you to read instead.
> 
> And if you think this is bad, you should see the uncut version.
> 
> Actually, no, you shouldn’t.

* * *

_May, 2026_

People were bastards.

No, they were. _All_ people. They all were bastards, they all sucked, and Dean was just about done bothering trying to save any of ‘em. Why should he? They were all murdering fuckwads and deserved what they got.

Some part of him insisted he knew that wasn’t true, but he ignored it as he drove back to the motel, not caring that he probably shouldn’t be driving while this drunk, but fuck it. This had been a terrible job and he never should’ve gone on it.

It had looked straightforward—people ending up dead in a small town in Arizona, no apparent connection between them and all happening in different ways. Except all of them had the same weird marks on their right hand—almost like teethmarks. That was enough to make Dean and Cas drive out there to investigate, and Cas taking a look at the bodies and declaring they had trace ghost scat on them or whatever it was he saw was more than enough for them to stick around and figure out what was happening.

And find out they had. Though the course of their investigations and one more person getting axed—the wife of a teacher at the local high school—they’d found out it was a seventeen-year-old girl named Melanie Peterson. Lived in the town her whole life, well-loved, nice family, bright future—and had turned up dead a year ago, the victim of a home invasion, and cause of death was strangulation. They’d also found teethmarks deep in her right hand—she’d obviously been trying to fight off whoever’d done it to her and he’d responded in kind.

Their methods for dealing with spirits had changed a bit, since Cas joined the team. To them, a ghost had always just been something that didn’t belong here anymore and needed to be put down. But to a guy who could see and communicate with them—who had been in charge of handling them in the afterlife, for crying out loud—they were still people, and could sometimes be reasoned with. Or at least questioned. More than once, they’d used an Enochian ritual to summon up a spirit to find out what its beef was, and a once they’d actually managed to convince it to, well, give up the ghost.

Cas speculated that the apparent lack of a pattern could actually be one itself—one of revenge. If they could find out what her problem was, they might be able to appease her without anyone else getting ganked. Armed and ready, they’d trotted out to the cemetery, ready to blast her ass and fry her bones if she got frisky, and within minutes had her spirit there before them.

She’d been angry, yes, but she hadn’t tried anything with them because her beef wasn’t with them at all. Instead, she’d _told_ them everything. She told them about how her neighbor Mrs. Wilson had _heard_ her screaming and hadn’t done a thing, hadn’t come to help or even called the cops. She told them about how the mailman, Jerry McNeely, was friends with the guy who’d done it and he suspected but said nothing. About how the Superintendent at her school knew that at her Trig teacher had a rather shady habit of switching jobs behind him, but he’d just shrugged it off and hired him anyway because he’d needed a qualified math teacher. About how her Trig teacher’s wife, Missy Zucaro, _knew_ of her husband’s proclivities and tastes and just let him do it, again and again. And about how her trig teacher, Craig Zucaro, had been so nice to her and complimented her in class and told her how she was his top student, had asked her to stay after and had come onto her, and then the evening after she’d refused him and threatened to turn him in had broken into her house and raped and killed her. Just like he’d done to all the girls before.

Dean’s nails had been cutting into his palms by the time she’d finished her furious, spitting tirade, and he’d told her that she’d get her justice, but she had to be put to rest now. They’d asked if there was anything she knew about that might convict him—something to link his teeth to the marks that had wound up in her hand, any piece of evidence they’d missed, _something_ , but she’d gotten mad then, angry that they weren’t gonna let her finish what she’d been building up to, because she wanted _justice_ and revenge, and only she could get that the way she wanted it, but they couldn’t give it to her, not that way and they’d had no choice but to torch her because she’d tried to turn on them.

They’d returned to town, ready to do some honest police work in their cop masquerade, first heading straight to Zucaro’s place…

…only to discover that he was gone. A few questions at the school and around town later, and it seemed like he’d just up and run. He’d put in his notice at the school, but hadn’t waited for the two weeks to be up, and hadn’t really said goodbye to anyone. He’d just said he had to leave and ran. Hadn’t said where he was going or how long he’d be gone. No phone calls, no nothing. He just _bolted_.

Dean wasn’t stupid. He guessed that word of the murders, slowly but surely circling back to Zucaro, had somehow gotten to him. The sorry fucker probably didn’t suspect a spirit, but he knew somebody was taking revenge.

And now Melanie was torched, her bones burned and her spirit gone, and Craig Zucaro had gotten away scot-free—again.

They’d both done their best to point the cops in the direction of some evidence that might set up a hunt for Zucaro, to associate him with Melanie’s death and those before her and to open up the door for getting him caught and convicted as a serial killer, but there was no guarantee of that. God knew how many more girls he might kill in the future, too.

It always sucked when the monster they were hunting eluded them or got away. But somehow, having a genuinely bad _human_ get away to keep killing…it was just all the more infuriating.

They were gonna head out in the morning. Dean was half-tempted to just pack up and leave tonight, but no, they’d booked the motel through tomorrow, so fine, they’d stay in it. It was pretty late, and they hadn’t eaten, so he’d found the nearest bar that also served burgers and had hit it, not feeling all that hungry but eating anyway just to take his mind off of things as he worked his way through whiskey after whiskey. He drank too much, and Cas did, too—he had _two_ beers, and Dean had snapped at him to order something else when it had looked like he was about to ask for a third. He’d meekly asked for water after that.

Once they were done, that left them with nothing else to do but go back to the motel and sleep it off. But he wasn’t tired. _Fuck._

He pulled into his parking space in front of his room, killing the engine and yanking out the keys with more force than was necessary. After a brief moment of contemplation, he tossed the keys at Cas, who almost missed them because he’d only been paying half-attention, the idiot. “Get the bags,” he grunted, throwing his car door open and stomping his way up to the motel, digging around in his pocket for their room key.

He left the door open for Cas, and was offered no relief from the sticky summer heat outside—because that goddamned bastard had turned the thermostat up again. Angrily, he swung a left and turned the heat off, switching it back to A/C and turning it down to sixty-eight, before tossing the room key on the table beside the door and shrugging out of his jacket. He missed the chair he was aiming for and instead threw it on the ground. He ground his teeth, but decided it didn’t matter and just left it there, heading straight for the bathroom so he could take a leak.

By the time he was finished, Cas was inside, locking all of the locks and deadbolts and making sure the curtains were tugged securely over their window. When he turned, he immediately spotted Dean, and Dean saw his eyes all upturned and concerned and worried, and that did nothing to improve his shitty mood. He knew Cas wasn’t worried about that poor girl getting no justice, no, because Cas was all _big picture_ , and had told him over dinner that, while what had happened here was unfortunate, Melanie’s soul was at peace and she had been sent to her proper resting place—and Zucaro would eventually be brought to eternal justice whether humans could give him their brand or not. So no, he wasn’t concerned about that—he was concerned about _Dean_.

Well, he could take his concern and shove it. Dean wasn’t the one who _deserved_ the concern here. Why didn’t that fucking halo ever worry about something _other_ than him?

Dean spared him a glare before stumping over to his bed and dropping down onto it. He reached into his back pocket for his flask—was full, good—taking a slug of the warm whiskey inside of it before setting it aside on the night table and leaning down to kick off his shoes. He heard the low rumble of thunder, confirming his suspicion that the flashes he thought he’d seen on the horizon on their drive back to their room had in fact been lightning from a summer storm. Great—now there was a chance they might be driving home in rain tomorrow, too. That just made _everything_ perfect. And with a thunderstorm rolling in, that meant a loud night. Perfect, perfect, _perfect_. _Wasn’t everything just fucking_ perfect, he thought as he took another drink.

“Dean?”

He jerked his head up, still struggling with the knot in his shoelaces, and saw that Cas had finished putting their bags away and was now standing fretfully by the table. “I’m sorry things…did not go as well as you had hoped,” he tried.

Dean snorted. “Forget it, Cas,” he growled, returning his attention to the shoelaces. He _wanted_ forget it, just like he wanted to forget that pathetic attempt at reassurance—and the one at the bar, where he’d talked about how he’d get justice in Hell. Did Cas really not realize how much like a goddamn _fundie_ he sounded when he talked about that shit in public? Or _not_ in public, for that matter.

He finally managed to get his shoes off when Cas was suddenly next to him, slowly sitting down on the bed beside him, and Dean knew what he was up to before he even started it, the little shit. He glowered at him as he hesitantly slid an arm around Dean’s back, and then his other hand came up to try and touch his cheek. Dean didn’t really jerk away, but he did make it clear he didn’t want any of Cas’s tender crap. Cas dropped it, but kept his arm where it was. He was still staring all soulfully at Dean, so Dean just intensified his own glare, which obviously didn’t help because the next thing he knew he was being kissed.

Oh, great. No matter what happened, of course Cas was automatically set to “let’s have sex” once the hunt was over. Who cared what mood Dean was in, no, no, Cas absolutely must have himself some sex. Dean was half inclined to tell him to just go fuck his own _hand_ , if he was so horny, but no, that wouldn’t do—because Dean knew he _didn’t_ do that.

Dean didn’t respond much to Cas kissing him, but he did respond a little, mostly ‘cause he couldn’t help it—if he got kissed, he was pretty much automatically programmed to do it back. But he recognized those soft brushes of Cas’s lips—yep, still trying to be all _comforting_ and crap.

“Dean,” he whispered, “I really am sorry that—things didn’t—”

“You said that,” Dean interrupted, not bother whispering. “I told you to quit it. So don’t bring it up anymore.” He pulled away, turning so he could drink more. Cas didn’t move, so after a minute or two of silence while Dean just took drink after drink from his flask, Dean looked back at him.

Yeah, Cas was still staring at him, and was even more pathetic. He saw Cas chew on his lower lip a little, and then he was being kissed again, and it was irritating, but Dean didn’t bother shoving him off. That’d just hurt his feelings, because he was an overly-sensitive, pathetic son of a bitch. Dean was mad enough already—he didn’t think he could handle Pitiful Pearl on top of all of it. Well, _more_ of a Pitiful Pearl—he was still doing it now, because Dean wasn’t leaping at the opportunity for sex.

Cas finally stopped kissing him after a little bit, his eyes cutting to the side because Dean definitely wasn’t getting into it at all. Oh, was it going to be a miracle? Was Cas going to read _signals_ for a change? Nope, not a miracle, because he was just getting out of his shoes. The bastard was still hoping for action.

Cas always got out of his shoes faster than Dean did—Dean thought he double-knotted like everyone else, but he never seemed to have to fight with his laces. Dean was pretty sure he tied his shoes differently, but even after all this time, he’d never bothered to ask. He watched as Cas slid his shoes away with one foot, and then he returned his puppy-gaze to him; Dean couldn’t tell if he was pleading for him to not be so angry or for action—probably both, knowing him, because if Dean wasn’t angry, that _meant_ action, so he just won all around, didn’t he? Stupid fucking angel. Drifted through life so goddamned assured of everything. _Oh, of course she’s at rest. Oh, of course he’ll get justice. So why shouldn’t we screw?_

Cas’s hands twisted in his lap for a moment, and Dean could tell he was fighting with himself, but then he just reached forward for the hem of Dean’s shirt. Oh, good, he was gonna go this route? Just skip all the formalities? Well, wasn’t that just peachy-keen. He was just in such a rush to get his rocks off, wasn’t he? Dean didn’t bother fighting him as he tugged at his shirt, letting him pull it off—he was hot anyway.

Dean resisted the urge to sneer derisively when Cas hesitated again, obviously hoping Dean would return the shirt-removing favor, but when he didn’t, he just did it himself, pulling it over his head and dropping it in a pile with Dean’s. He just grabbed his flask for another drink and kept staring at the far wall, refusing to turn to face Cas, even as he scooched in closer.

Once Cas got his warm torso up against him, it was even more irritating—Dean had been _hot_ , so taking off the shirt was relief. But now he had something _worse_ all over him, the stupid radiator masquerading as an angel that masqueraded as a man. One big matryoshka doll of masquerade. Wasn’t _that_ just so fucking deep.

Cas had his arms around him, and he was hot, which was fucking _annoying_. Fortunately, he moved, pulling back and then just kissing his cheek, then kissing his chin a little. Great. Now he was gonna try and turn him on. He was determined. Well, Dean could wait him out. Though if he kept it up much longer, he was gonna _really_ piss him off. Dean pulled his head away from Cas’s seeking mouth, because he was _tired_ of that. Cas got that message and stopped that part at least, and Dean didn’t miss that he was clearly floundering now. Good.

He was touching Dean’s chest, but his motions were unsure. He didn’t even feel that sure when he touched his ribs, almost like he was afraid to linger there. And it was fortunate that he didn’t, because Dean was in _no_ mood for his touchy-feely crap. Instead, he just kept _pawing_ at him, obviously hoping Dean would respond in some way, other than to occasionally shift away from his groping or try and glare a hole through the wall.

But he just kept going, endeavoring to persevere, as Chief Dan George said to Josey Wales, and Dean was about ready to tell him to fuck off. His intentions for whatever he was doing didn’t matter. If he honestly thought Dean would be in the mood for something after all that, he was an idiot. If he thought this would somehow _help_ , well, what the fuck help was it gonna do? That sick murdering fuck was still free.

The bed shifted as Cas was sliding down, and Dean glanced down and ground his teeth when he saw Cas was slowly lowering himself to his knees, blinking sadly up at him the whole time. Oh, great. _Seriously?_

His hands were just resting on Dean’s upper thighs, and he wasn’t even trying to push them apart, giving Dean time to contemplate just locking his legs and not letting him when he tried. But instead, he just looked up at him, pitiful and fretful, and then he started talking.

“Dean?” he started, licking his lips a little as his fingers moved a bit restlessly over the denim of his jeans. “Do you…would you like me to suck it?”

For a moment Dean just stared at him. He didn’t know if Cas was legit trying to dirty-talk him, at a time like this, no less, or if that was just now his default way of talking when it came to sex and was genuinely asking if Dean was in the mood for a blowjob. But the sudden, explosive…he didn’t know, rage, spite, frustration, who knew, that erupted in his midsection didn’t care.

The ghost had gotten none of the justice she deserved. They’d failed to catch a serial killer and he’d probably kill again. The food in this town sucked. There was a thunderstorm coming, and knowing his luck, there’d probably be hail in it. He was tired. He was drunk. And Cas _wouldn’t stop pawing at him_.

And that was _it_.

Cas’s eyes widened when Dean reached down and seized him in a tight grip on his upper arms, and gasped when he just hauled him back up, dragging him forward as he snarled, “Get the fuck up here!” but he didn’t see Cas’s reaction to that as he just threw him back down on his stomach across his legs, Cas’s ass sticking out where he was now bent over across Dean’s thighs. Cas’s arms shot out to steady himself as he grabbed at the edge of the bed, trying to twist around to figure out what had just happened or maybe to apologize, but no, Dean wasn’t interested in _any_ of that. Cas wanted to fucking fool around? _Fine! They’d fool around!_ They’d fool around the way Cas _deserved_!

“Here—you wanna get some, you son of a bitch—then you can _have_ some!” he snarled. “You can have _this_!” Cas’s tiny little yelp was near-comical when Dean’s open palm came down on his right buttcheek, the satisfactory slap he should’ve gotten somewhat muffled by his jeans. He squeezed where he’d slapped, but Cas was still wriggling so Dean smacked him again, not in the same spot, and hard enough that Dean could feel the sting on his own palm. He let it fade and readied for another, but then decided that there was no way this was gonna be satisfying if he did it with Cas’s pants on. They were coming off— _now._ Besides, that’s what the horny bastard wanted!

Grabbing his arm again, he made him sit back up and stumble to his feet, and nearly growled when he saw Cas just looked confused and freaked out, obviously having no clue what was going on. Well, Dean knew how to give him a fucking clue. “Unzip ‘em,” he ground out, but didn’t bother waiting for Cas, instead just reaching out with his free hand and popping his jeans open. He started on his zipper, and it was then that he realized Cas wasn’t even fucking hard. This had been his idea and he wasn’t even turned on? Fuck that!

The zipper was down and Cas was being dragged right back where he had been, right across his knee where he belonged, but his ass was now more in front of Dean, and he had him angled so Cas could support himself on the bed because he didn’t have time for that shit as Dean yanked his jeans and his shorts down around his thighs. But he got his arm under him too, easily finding his limp dick where Dean had positioned it between his own spread legs and grabbing it, squeezing and stroking. “You want to screw around, fine—we’ll screw the fuck around. We’ll screw around _my way_ ,” he growled, tugging him fast.

“Dean, what—” he started, but Dean shut him up with another swat—gentler this time, since he didn’t have any fabric there, but the _smack_ was much better this time. Cas gasped, but Dean kept jerking him, leaning down closer to his ear.

“Shut up,” he hissed. “This was your fucking idea.” And then Cas let out a shuddering sound when Dean bit him, right on the shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark that he knew would last a couple of days, but he was far beyond caring.

Dean’s furious efforts made it so Cas got it up in very little time, and soon he had a firm grip on his hard cock, stroking the slit at the top over and over with his thumb for a few moments before he returned his attentions to the task he’d set out to do. His skin was only the tiniest bit pink where Dean had already slapped him once, but he’d take care of _that_ , thank you. So he pulled back and brought his hand down again, _hard_ , right on his other cheek, and Cas jumped, sucking in a startled breath because Dean hadn’t stopped stroking his cock when he did it. He briefly rubbed the spot he’d hit, and then brought it down again, savoring that slap of flesh against flesh and savoring the little shivering whine Cas just gave as well, watching as Cas’s fingers flexed against the sheets of the bed.

He timed his next slap with a skilled twist of his other wrist, and felt a satisfactory sting on his hand this time as well as heard Cas’s little whimper—the good kind, too. His fingers dug into Cas’s asscheek, and he could see the nice red handprint starting to show. Yeah, just how he wanted it. Unable to resist, he leaned down and bit him on the ass, but he didn’t linger. Instead, he brought his hand down again, feeling Cas shiver against him.

Dean wasn’t unfamiliar with spanking—and not just _getting_ spanked, like with Theresa. He’d occasionally had a frisky lady who’d purred that she was so bad and he needed to show her who was boss, so he’d happily disciplined her like she wanted. First time he’d ever bent over and spanked an angel, though. It was more satisfying than he’d thought it would be. And he could tell that Cas sure as hell understood what that damn pizza man had been up to now—when Dean dragged his thumb up to circle the head of his cock again after he slapped the hot skin of his ass, he felt a smear of slippery wetness already starting to gather there.

Smirking, he let Cas’s prick go, an idea sparking in his head.

Dean grabbed both of Cas’s buttcheeks with his hands, squeezing a bit, the skin under his palms hotter than it usually was, and all bright pink from his efforts. He glanced down and saw how Cas’s head was bowed, his fists knotted in the blanket, his little gasping breaths music to his ears. But he didn’t focus on that, instead just spreading his ass for a moment and spitting right between his cheeks—he would’ve rather had the heated stuff, but he’d make do.

This time, when he brought his open palm down on Cas’s ass, he was rubbing two fingers all along his asshole, and Cas groaned. And when he smacked him again, he slid his finger right up his ass, all the way in, and Cas made a keening noise as Dean crooked and moved it just how he liked it. Cas was shivering and shuddering, and Dean really, really wished he had a free hand at this point so he could unzip his own pants, because having them still zipped with Cas pinning him down was _seriously_ uncomfortable, but hey, no pain, no gain! After all, wasn’t Cas learning the full meaning of that motto right now?

One was good, and two was better, so he forced in the second finger, watching the way Cas’s fingers flexed against the bed, savoring the ringing sound of his palm against Cas’s ass, his vicious glee overriding any kind of weirdness about this whole thing—that, and the fact that Cas wasn’t confused anymore, oh no, he was _enjoying_ this. He pushed his fingers in deep, and Cas whimpered Dean’s name, stuttering it a little when Dean spanked him again, but it was enough to get Dean hotter and decide that was enough, Cas’d had his fun and learned his lesson. So he pulled his fingers out, unable to resist slapping his little red ass one more time, and then grabbed him, getting roughly to his feet and dragging Cas up with him before throwing him back down on the bed, and then he spat into his palm and seized his cock, jerking him fast, his grip tight, and he could tell from the way Cas’s hands were moving restlessly that he wanted to get his hands on Dean and cling, but no, Dean wasn’t gonna let him, so he stayed standing by the bed as he did it.

“You give it to me,” he snarled, and then jammed his other hand between Cas’s legs, down under his balls, giving them a rough squeeze before his fingers sought out his asshole again. “You give it to me _now_ , you little bitch! You fucking _come_ , it’s what you wanted!”

And Cas did, just like he always did when Dean ordered him to—his little cries got louder as he thrust his hips up against Dean’s hands, and when Dean forced two fingers inside him again his back curved upwards, his hands flailing to get a grip on _anything_ , and he came, hot and sticky spurts getting on Dean’s hand, and Dean didn’t even care where it landed because he wasn’t trying to catch it this time, no, he just kept furiously pumping his fist and his fingers, making Cas wail and thrash as he tore at the blankets.

Dean let him go and pulled away after he stopped coming, staring down at the limp and quivering idiot in his bed, his pants yanked down, his face flushed, and he was staring back—and he was _starry-eyed_ —even after—

Somehow, that just got everything in him blazing hot, from the general rage at the world to the heat in his groin. And now Cas was sitting up—reaching for him—for his _pants_ —

And that got him moving again.

“Get up,” he barked, seizing his upper arms again, smearing Cas’s come everywhere but he barely registered that. Cas had been moving on his own, but it’d been a slow pace because he had still been riding his orgasm, so Dean pretty much dragged him off of the bed and Cas wound up going rather heavily to his knees. Well, he could stay down there.

Dean released his arms and straightened up, instead seizing a handful of his hair. Cas gasped as Dean forced him to look up at him, standing over him and shaking with fury at—at _everything_ —

Cas didn’t need to be told what Dean wanted and immediately grabbed at Dean’s pants, his fingers a bit fumbly as he was still trying to recover from everything Dean had unleashed on him, but he managed to unzip Dean’s jeans pretty quickly, tugging his shorts down as well as his jeans and freeing his stiff prick from their confines.

“Here’s your answer— _yes_ , I want you to suck it—you suck my dick!” he snarled, jerking Cas forward by the hair.

Cas managed to get one hand around the base of Dean’s cock, and then Dean sucked in a breath when he was in Cas’s mouth, all that hot pressure around him, but goddammit, it wasn’t _good enough_ , because he wasn’t sucking _hard_ , he wasn’t moving _fast_ —

Cas made a startled noise when Dean yanked him backwards, jerking his cock out of Cas’s mouth. “ _No_ ,” he seethed. “You wanted to suck it, so you _suck it_ , you little fucker, none of this slow shit— _suck my fucking cock!_ ”

The heat was back, and _that_ was what he wanted, _fuck_ yes—immediately sucking hard, so fucking hard, and he was sliding it in and out fast, just like he’d told him—and Cas looked up then, his eyes all big and asking if it was okay, if this was good.

Dean responded to that by getting both hands in Cas’s hair, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “You give it to me.”

And he did—Cas had both hands on him, one twisting around his cock and the other up between his legs, squeezing his sack. But it wasn’t gentle or slow, no—it was what Dean had told him to do, fast and furious. It was somehow both too much and not enough all at the same time. Used to be that Cas going at him like this would finish him in no time, but not today. He watched it all, watched his cock slipping in and out of Cas’s mouth, and shivered at the tiny noises Cas was making around his cock. Cas’s tongue was working him, somehow able to keep up with the pace, and he wanted to shut his eyes and just _feel_ , just lose himself in all of this, but no, he kept his eyes open and kept his fiery gaze on the angel on his knees before him. Somehow, just that thought made things get even hotter in his belly.

Cas suddenly pulled away from his cock, inhaling sharply and trying to breathe, but he lunged forward after barely two seconds, not going for Dean’s prick again but instead for his balls, and Dean grunted as he frantically licked and sucked at him, his hands tight around Dean’s cock as he did. But he didn’t stay long, and then he was right back to Dean’s prick, opening wide and sliding it in, _all_ the way in, and when he had swallowed him down he looked up, blinking rapidly.

“Gettin’ what you wanted.” Dean’s fingers tightened in Cas’s hair. “You fucking cocksucker— _always_ wantin’ it!”

Dean didn’t wait for him to try and move—instead, he just kept his hold on his hair, kept him _still_ , and pulled his hips back, but then thrust forward again, fucking Cas’s mouth, and Cas just looked up at him the whole time, staring up at him with those big blue eyes, his mouth open and willing to take _anything_ Dean wanted to give to him, and Dean knew it and suddenly felt himself shooting wildly towards the edge.

He knew he didn’t have much longer—everything was blazing hot inside, so he didn’t bother trying to hold out for anything. He just let go, thrusting rapidly into that sucking heat, as deep as he dared go, and Cas just held his gaze the whole time, his hands tight on Dean’s ass, almost willing him to go _faster_ , go _deeper_ , go _rougher_ , because that was what he _wanted_ —what both of them wanted.

Everything was so fucking hot—the room was hot, Cas’s mouth was hot, everything was sparking inside of him so intensely he almost felt dizzy, but he kept moving, desperately chasing the only thing that would relieve all of it. He didn’t care anymore, he just wanted release, wanted it here, in Cas’s mouth, because if he didn’t get it he was going to fucking explode.

Cas was moaning—making noise around his prick, and he knew it was deliberate because Cas just seemed to know he didn’t want this drawn out, that he just wanted to _come_ , so he’d pulled out all the stops, using all this best tricks, squeezing his sack, humming him, getting his tongue all up against the head of Dean’s cock when he could, and it was working—fucking _God_ , he was so close, and he finally broke eye-contact with Cas and saw his cock, slick and wet and in and out of his lips so fast and the wet sounds it made as he fucked his mouth—oh _shit_ —

“Shit—fuck— _fuck, Cas, FUCK!_ ” he bellowed, throwing his head back and just roaring out everything at the ceiling, and he couldn’t help it, he tightened his fingers in Cas’s hair and thrust his hips forward hard, driving himself into Cas’s mouth, but Cas took it, swallowed him down, and he came, came down Cas’s throat, and Cas just kept _sucking_ , kept his tongue moving and his throat working the whole time, and Dean could hear himself almost _sobbing_ , jerking helplessly, everything in him just bursting and exploding and shattering—

He became aware of his knees trembling first, then he became aware of Cas pulling away, quicker than normal and coughing as he did, and Dean made a feeble little noise and twitched uncontrollably at the feel of his mouth sliding off his dick, feeling his balls give one last little squeeze, and he opened his eyes in time to see where the last of his load landed—right there on Cas’s chin. Cas was panting, staring up at him, his mouth open, his face smeared with spit and come; Dean vaguely realized that this was probably the nastiest blowjob he’d ever gotten from Cas.

Cas, who was still on his knees, looking up at him with big eyes, his head tilted up—because Dean still had his fingers knotted in Cas’s hair.

Abruptly, he couldn’t keep standing. It all just hit him, everything that had happened, and he finally let go of Cas’s hair, the backs of his legs bumping the bed as he staggered backwards. He collapsed, managing to catch himself so he stayed in a sitting position, and he just sat there, shaking and trying to catch his breath, far too dazed to care that his pants were still down and his dick was hanging out. He stared stupidly at Cas, watching as he brought his hand up to wipe his face, saw how disheveled and messy he was, his hair sticking up where Dean had grabbed it, saw his pants still down around his knees. Cas sat down there for a few more seconds, just rocked back on his heels, but then he stood up and hitched his pants back up before almost cautiously approaching Dean like he was nervous Dean would unload on him again; he hesitated for only a moment before sitting beside him on the bed.

It didn’t matter that his arm felt like lead. Dean managed to sling it up around Cas’s shoulders anyway, pulling him close but not looking at him—he couldn’t. Not after—this. It didn’t get any better when Cas just leaned into it, resting his head against Dean’s shoulder, his breath ghosting across his sweaty neck, and reaching up to get his fingers around Dean’s wrist, pressing against his pulse.

That didn’t help. In fact, it made it worse. Dean’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. After all that, Cas was…

Time just oozed by as they sat in the silence that only got more awful as the seconds ticked by. Dean wasn’t sure how much passed, and didn’t really care. But he knew they couldn’t sit there forever, even though he was pretty sure Cas would’ve been happy to do it.

Dean swallowed hard; everything about what just happened was starting to sink in past the booze still making his brain fuzzy, and didn’t help the vaguely sick feeling in his gut. _Say something. Anything._ “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. For—everything.”

He felt Cas shift beside him. “You don’t need to apologize.”

Dean twitched, dropping his arm. _Goddammit._ “Yeah. I _do_. That—Cas—” He rubbed a tired hand over his hot eyes. “This was a crap day, and a crap hunt—a crap _everything_ —but I didn’t need to take it out on you. Like _that_. That was—Cas, that wasn’t okay. That was _wrong_.”

He could feel Cas staring at him. “It’s all right. I didn’t mind it.”

“ _Dammit_ , you—” Dean stopped. He was still too drunk, only now he was also too tired to try and keep arguing this with Cas. He’d do it later. So he glanced over at Cas, his stomach twisting again when he saw that loving look on his face. “Cas, I don’t care if you ‘didn’t mind it’. That was…I should not have _done_ that to you and I’m trying to apologize, so just _let_ me, you dumbass.”

Cas just looked back, his eyes all soft and shiny the way they always were after they did their thing—even after _this_ one, and it was horrible. “All right,” he said, and then wiggled a little so he could lean up and kiss him. Dean kissed back because he couldn’t help it, slow and deep, his eyes shut. But he opened them again when Cas pulled back again.

“Are you…okay? I didn’t…hurt you, did I?” he asked gruffly. God, if he’d done something to him…

“Yes, I’m all right. I liked it.” Cas’s gaze was bright as he peered at him. “Do you feel at all better, Dean?” he asked quietly.

Dean only held his gaze for a second before turning away, biting the inside of his cheek hard, his fingers digging into his knee.

No. He didn’t feel better. In fact, now he felt _worse_ , and was _getting_ worse by the minute. He felt like _shit_ , because there was Cas, asking Dean if _he_ felt better after Dean had fucking thrown him down and—and—

 _Used_ him.

He’d fucking _used_ him. After all of his promises to himself that he’d never, _ever_ do that, no matter what Cas was offering—

He couldn’t tell Cas he didn’t feel better. He couldn’t tell him how he really felt because Cas wouldn’t get it; after all, he didn’t get it now. That’d just upset him, and he’d blame himself for it, and that would make Dean feel _even worse_. He simply could not take Cas being disappointed in himself in any respect for what had just happened.

So he lied—well, half-lied. “Yeah. I do,” he muttered, not looking at him. It was a half-lie in the sense that at least his mind had been off the bad hunt—no, he hadn’t really been thinkin’ about that at all at the time. And since that’d been Cas’s mission when he’d tried to start Dean’s motor? Mission fucking accomplished.

Cas’s voice snapped him back to reality. “Good.”

Cas kissed him again, and Dean couldn’t muster up much energy to respond to it; fortunately, it didn’t last long. Cas sat for a moment longer, staring all tenderly at him while Dean squirmed uncomfortably, a barrage of incoherent apologies and explanations on the tip of his tongue, but then Cas let go of his arm. Dean let him go, watching tiredly as he got up, pushed his pants and shorts down and off, and then peeled off his shirt in the same motion as he moved across the room to his own bag, where he started getting out some fresh clothes; he was going for a shower. Well, he could do that all he wanted. Dean was exhausted.

He waited until Cas shut the bathroom door before he slowly got to his feet, feeling almost achy, he was so tired. Just sitting there had let the nastiness on his junk dry, so he kicked out of his jeans and shorts and grudgingly went over to the sink so he could get a wet washcloth and get it off of him—he wasn’t so tired and drunk and guilty that he wanted to sleep in that.

Not necessarily a full clean, but hell, wasn’t like he’d genuinely fucked Cas or something—it’d do. After he was done with that, he washed his hands—a bit more thoroughly, given where his fingers had been—before shuffling back to his bed. He pulled off his shirt before reaching down and grabbing his shorts, getting back into those because he didn’t want to sleep naked tonight. He turned of the lights just as he heard the thump and rush of the water starting in the shower, and then turned back the covers—the blankets all went to Cas’s side—sliding underneath the cool sheets and getting comfortable. As comfortable as he could, anyway.

He wanted to stay up. He wanted to stay up and wait for Cas to come out of the shower and try to explain again why this…why none of this was all right. He wanted to make Cas _understand_ , because that was really the worst part of the whole thing. Cas wasn’t even mad at him—and would never _be_ mad at him. And really, Dean _wanted_ him to be mad at him for that. He deserved it, ‘cause he was an asshole. He _would_ stay up and do that. Forget “dealing with it later”, no, he was gonna deal with it now. Dean rolled over on his back, staring at the ceiling, blinking slowly and willing Cas to hurry up in the shower for a change.

He didn’t remember falling asleep.

* * *

Dean gave a loud gasp as he was suddenly jolted awake by the loud, crackling boom of thunder that rattled the window panes of their motel room. Jesus _Christ_ , had lightning just struck in the fucking parking lot? Goddammit…

His brief second of alert wakefulness quickly faded, leaving him squinting and muzzy and still pretty drunk, and he peered blearily at the clock next to him. Two-thirty in the morning. Fucking hell. He hoped he could get back to sleep quickly—didn’t need to be kept awake by a stupid thunderstorm. He needed to sleep this off and be done with it.

He started flopping around, feeling a bit chilly and wrestling with the blankets, trying to get comfortable, when he suddenly became very aware of a warm, still mass tucked up against his back. He paused for a second, and then rolled over a bit more carefully than all his previous flopping—yep, there was Cas. He hadn’t been spooning with him, but he had migrated towards the heat source in the bed—and he was still out like a light. Thunder hadn’t even made him twitch. Bastard.

Dean grunted as he settled in more comfortably, not sure why he was still trying to be careful not to jostle the bed too much—if that thunderclap hadn’t woken him up, this sure as hell wouldn’t. But he was careful anyway, and after a little deliberation, gently draped one arm around him. Dean stared at him for a bit, just watching him sleep—his still-damp hair flattened on one side and sticking up on the other, his mouth slightly open, every inhale buzzing a little—completely peaceful and relaxed like there was absolutely nothing wrong in the world right now.

Swallowing, Dean gently pulled him closer. _You stupid angel_ , he thought to himself, nuzzling his hair a little before kissing his temple as he stroked his back, feeling the uneven pattern of scars beneath his fingers.

_I’m sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah....sorry about that. If it helps, that never happens again.


	2. Hot Shot Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four months after the events of “Free For All”, Dean finally gets a chance to take Cas out and apologize for what happened. Things don’t go quite according to plan this time, either—so Dean is forced to improvise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so! Now that “Free For All” is out of the way, we can get to much better things. There is no dubcon or rough sex or hair-pulling here. We’re back to sweetness and light. Here is Dean’s official apology for what he did to his boyfriend.

* * *

_August, 2026_

It sucked to wake up pissed off. Unfortunately, that is exactly how Dean woke up, because it was the sound of shuddering pipes that’d done it—the sound of the shower shutting off. Which meant Cas had woken up, gotten out of bed, and had just finished bathing.

Without Dean.

Dean was too annoyed that Cas had showered without him to be annoyed that he even was annoyed about not getting to shower _with_ Cas in the first place—besides, he’d stopped _really_ caring about that a long time ago. No, he was fine with admitting it to himself: he had wanted to shower with Cas. He’d wanted to wake up with Cas, maybe make out with Cas, and then get in the nice, hot shower with Cas, and he’d wanted to fool around with Cas and make it last, to make up for all the stuff that had gone balls-up on this trip (to say nothing of the last one). That stupid shower was his last chance, goddammit.

The hunt hadn’t gone _wrong_ , exactly. No, Dean would say it was pretty successful, actually. When Sam had dug up the news stories of some rather grisly deaths taking place in Ada, Oklahoma, Dean had been all for it. It looked like a haunting of some kind, and that was right up Cas’s alley. Thank God Sam was a puss and had bowed out on his own, so Dean didn’t have to try to think up some kind of excuse to get rid of him—because he had wanted to take Cas out on this job alone. Just them, so he could…make things up to him, after the last hunt.

God, he didn’t even want to think about that. But he couldn’t help it, had been thinkin’ about it for the past four months since _that_ had happened. He’d tried to be extra nice to Cas any time they came home in the interim, but they were still at Bobby’s place with two big nosey sons-of-bitches downstairs, so nothing he did there could measure up to a nice trip after a hunt with just the two of them.

After a month of guilt, Dean had worked up the nerve to try and suggest it—but it hadn’t happened. Seemed like all the local ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties had decided to kick up a fuss, ‘cause just about any time they rolled home and found a case that Dean thought maybe he and Cas could take, turned out he was already booked to help Bobby with some new thing that had come up. Typical, really, for shit like that to come up at just the right time to piss Dean off.

Finally, though, the planets had aligned: Cas had out of the blue declared that he wanted to go on a hunt (probably to get away from Bobby; looked to Dean like they were both pretty pissed off at each other over something), and there was this new ghost thing, and Sam wanted to stay home and lie around like the lazy slob he was. Perfect—a nice, normal little ghost hunt that Cas could hopefully use his tiny bit of remaining angel-mojo to wrap up nice and quick, and then Dean could set about really giving him the apology he deserved.

Except the hunt _hadn’t_ gone normally. No screw-ups—it just wasn’t the usual. They’d discovered pretty quickly that there was a witness to the last death—the wife of the poor sap who’d had his lower jaw ripped clean off. The fact that she was in the mental ward was unfortunate for her, but it wasn’t so unfortunate for the job—in his experience, when it came to shit like this, that usually meant they were in the crazy house for talking crazy, but he had a different idea of what constituted crazy-talk than most people.

He’d been right, of course—questioning her had been difficult, as she was a little out of it from the medication they’d put her on to keep her from going into hysterics, but they’d finally gotten her story. The house had gone cold, the lights had flickered, and then their mystery ghost had appeared—a tall guy with dark hair and only one eye. He only had the one because the other was where he’d apparently been _shot_. After that, Mr. Headshot had gone straight for her husband and, well, done his thing. Dean and Cas had left after that, going back to the motel to do some more research—namely, to figure out who their guy was. It hadn’t taken too long—it wasn’t too huge of a town, so violent crimes weren’t that common, and the Widow Wedman had mentioned that aside from the bullet hole, he looked like a pretty regular, modern guy. As such, they’d found a one Jerry York after minimal searching—twenty-two, dark-haired, and greatly mourned when he was killed by a drifter who’d shot him for his wallet three years ago.

Unfortunately, heading to the cemetery was where things started going south. Dean had been cool with it—very uncomplicated, and gonna be done in record time, it had seemed. His kind of hunt. They’d dug up ol’ Jerry under the light of the moon, but the second Dean had managed to get the casket open, Cas had dropped the bombshell.

“Something isn’t right,” he’d said, his eyes narrowed at the moldering bones. “This…doesn’t look like a restless spirit.”

He’d jumped right down into the grave with Dean then, and had not hesitated to just reach in and start fondling the corpse, which was nasty—didn’t matter they were just bones by now, Cas really needed to learn what he should touch and what he shouldn’t. But he’d felt it up anyway, and then had pulled back and made his little pronouncement.

“Dean, I think this spirit has been forced to rise and serve.”

Dean hadn’t bothered to hide his groan. Goddammit, he _hated_ cases like this! When monsters were monsters, it was straightforward: find it and kill it before it killed anyone else. That was what monsters did—hence the fucking name. But when the monsters were _humans_? It just—it was worse. It was _always_ worse. And not only that, they now were right back to where they started—no clue what was going on, who was doing it, and with a lot more research to do.

They’d started from the top then, going over each death to try and find the connection. If the spirit—or spirits—were being controlled, that meant the psycho had a reason for killing them all. For a while, they really couldn’t _find_ a connection. Larry Spiller was just a local mechanic; he didn’t have any enemies who would want to drop an engine block on his head. Garrett Rhodes was a bum who still lived with his mom, but he didn’t hurt anybody—well, the smell of pot that still clung to everything in the basement he lived had hurt Cas’s eyes and nose, but Dean hardly thought that deserved a death sentence—strangled to death by his own PS3, apparently. Tyler Middleton had been a bit of a dick, granted, as he apparently wanted to live up to the sleazy used-car salesman persona, but running him over with one of his cars seemed a bit unnecessary. And, of course, Alan Wedman made _zero_ sense—he was a nice guy who owned a local bakery. That, and he was almost the odd man out—the others had been killed with no witnesses, and the spirits had manipulated anything they could get their hands on to do it to them, not directly interacting with them and usually in a way that just looked like a (slightly bizarre) accident. But Wedman been murdered right in front of his wife—and in a way that was definitely not something that could be ruled as accidental or “normal”, like the others.

Leave it to Cas to figure out the pattern, the observant little bastard. He was the one who realized that with the exception of Wedman, all of the other men were about the same age; a little more digging revealed that they all went to Ada High School, and the few that had gone on to college went to East Central right here in town—and wouldn’t you know it, the same places as Alice Wedman. They’d gone questioning around again, trying to see if Alice had known any of the deceased, and that was when they’d discovered that she definitely knew them—seems she’d _dated_ them all when they’d been classmates. Well, that certainly made things interesting.

They’d headed back to the hospital then, getting another chat booked with Alice. They’d confirmed that she’d been in relationships with all of the men back in high school—she’d dazedly insisted it hadn’t been anything serious, just a little high school and college dating around, but then they’d had to pause to let her get herself together because she’d started sobbing again and Dean had been worried the nurses would tell them to go away and they’d never get to the bottom of this. But Dean had patted her shoulder and she’d gotten it together, whether on her own strength or with the help of whatever meds she was on, and Dean had gotten out the question he’d wanted to ask—if she knew anyone at all who would be interested in axing all of the people she’d ever been involved with romantically or have a grudge against her.

She’d said no at first, but then had shaken herself and said yes—yes, there was. Chris Grey—he’d been in her class as well, apparently, from kindergarten all the way through her senior year of college, and from what she told them, he’d been _born_ creepy or something. He’d more or less followed her around when they were younger, but then he moved on into being full-on obsessed with her in high school, asking her out repeatedly no matter how many times she told him no, sending her vaguely threatening letters every time she dated a guy that wasn’t him, and following her to college and stalking her, finally driving her to take out a restraining order against him. She said she hadn’t seen him since that incident, as apparently he’d moved away, and she had no idea where he was now.

Didn’t take them long to find out where he was—right here in town. He’d moved back about three months ago—which corresponded nicely with when the killings started.

That was enough for Dean to go on. He and Cas had loaded up and driven out to where they’d found out that he was staying, a ratty, nasty little house on the outskirts of the town. They’d slowly crept in through the back, guns drawn, every creak the rotting boards under their feet sounding loud as thunder. And for good reason—they’d been scouring the place, blinking in the darkness, and then they both heard it—that one footstep that definitely wasn’t their own.

Cas had been whipping around in the direction of the noise, but he hadn’t been fast enough. Dean had turned just in time to see what could only be Grey come rushing out from the shadows, his arms swinging forward—

Cas had thrown up his hands, but Dean had still heard the crowbar make contact with his skull, sending Cas crashing to the floor, his gun clattering out of sight.

“ _Cas!_ ” Dean had bellowed, even as fury had erupted in his midsection. He’d locked his sights on Grey, ready to fire, but his shot had gone wide when a heavy wad of thick rope had slammed into his hands—Grey had good aim too, apparently. The rope had tangled around his gun, dragging his arms down as he struggled to free it, and he had thrashed wildly, trying to get it out, but Grey was rushing him, that crowbar raised, his teeth bared in rage—

Dean had abandoned the gun, valuing his skull too much to keep trying to fight for it at the moment. He’d managed to catch the crowbar as it came down, and it’d been a wrestling match then—Dean had held his own, but goddammit, Grey was huge and twenty years younger, and the crowbar had eventually just clattered noisily to the ground as he hurled it away from them both, but then a fist crashed into his jaw and sent Dean reeling backwards, pain blooming where Grey’s knuckles had smashed into his face. Oh, but he’d kept right up with him, and a low punch had knocked the wind out of him when Grey got him in the gut, and he’d not even had time to recover from that when powerful hands had seized him and hurled him right against some moldy shelves, which had naturally crunched and collapsed against his weight, their dusty contents raining down on his head as he collapsed, struggling to breathe.

“Yeah, I thought you might show up,” Grey had growled, moving to stand over him. “Been hearin’ about you two sticking your noses in things, askin’ funny questions. Heard about the grave gettin’ dug up. You two faggots gonna stop me, huh?”

The lance of white-hot rage that had shot down into Dean’s belly had almost been enough to get him back on his feet so he could _kill that motherfucker_ , but Grey had kicked him in the hip then and put an end to that plan. “Alice was _mine_! That teasing whore—she’s gonna _pay_ for it! Just like everyone else did for trying to steal her!” he roared. “And you two _aren’t_ gonna get in my way!”

His fist had come up, but he’d been stepping backwards, and Dean had seen the pendant there, and he knew what it was, even as he’d heard him snarling out his incantations. The air went icy, and there, two of them—two spirits flickered into view right in front of Dean, and their eyes were on him, and Grey spat out his order, “ _Kill him!_ ” and Dean knew it was all over—their hands were outstretched, and he heard Grey saying something else as he suddenly whirled around, what was—

A horribly wet, crunching sound reached Dean’s ears and he heard Grey’s strangled, shocked voice, and the ghosts’ hands dropped. There was a tinkling little clatter, and then they simply flickered again and vanished, and Dean blinked rapidly, seeing Grey again—but his back this time, his charm at his feet, broken from where he’d dropped it, and Dean really had no idea what was happening—

That was when Dean saw the slowly-growing red stain on his back, and saw the dark shape protruding from it. He finally became aware of the choked, gurgling noises Grey was making, and when he at last managed to sit up, he finally saw it. Saw _Cas_.

Cas, his fists wrapped tight around the crowbar that he’d shoved all the way through the front of Grey’s chest and out his back, blood dripping down his temple, smearing down his face and neck, but his eyes burning with a terrible, implacable fury Dean hadn’t seen in literally _years_ —hadn’t seen since he was an _angel_.

And it was all for Grey as he tightened his grip and twisted the crowbar once before wrenching it back and out of him with a wet _shrnk_ and sent the fucker crashing to the floor.

All Dean could do for a few moments was blink up at him, staring almost dazedly at Cas, and Cas just looked down at Grey for a moment, the crowbar still tight in his grip, dripping blood to the floor, his chest rising and falling rapidly. But then the wrath all vanished, and the crowbar clanged loudly to the floor as he dropped it, seeming to shrink and totter a little where he stood before rushing a little unsteadily over to where Dean was still all laid out on the ground.

“Dean—are you all right?” he’d said, his voice hoarse as he’d reached down to help him up. Dean had reluctantly taken his proffered hand, not at all happy to see that much blood on the side of his face from where Grey had nailed him, not combined with the wobbly way he’d gotten over to him. He’d heaved himself to his feet, almost falling when he tried to put weight on his hip, but he didn’t have time for that when Cas had swayed again, bumping him a little, and he’d gotten his hands on his shoulders, steadying him—steadying them both.

“Screw that—hey, look at me. How’s your head?” He’d held up one finger. “How many fingers do you see?”

He’d gone through the whole concussion routine, one he’d done repeatedly with Sam, Dad, Bobby—pretty much anyone he’d worked with. Monsters, human or no, loved to play people’s skulls like tambourines, apparently. Cas had answered all of the questions pretty satisfactorily—he knew his name, who Dean was, where they were, and that he used to be an angel, and he’d followed Dean’s finger with his eyes—and yes, Cas had confirmed that he was holding up only _one_ finger, even if he did have to blink a little to focus on it. After that, they’d stood silently for a moment longer, Dean letting Cas get his bearings again as he surreptitiously tested the weight on his left leg again—good, where he’d gotten kicked him the hip wouldn’t cause him a serious problem, even if it would hurt like ten bitches on a bitch boat for the next few days—and then Dean had declared that they needed to get out of there. One thing to leave a dead monster behind—quite another to leave a dead human behind.

Dean had kept an arm around Cas as they’d both hobbled their way to the car—Dean may’ve been mostly-sure he didn’t have a concussion, but Cas was still unsteady and obviously hurting pretty bad. Dean had been doing this since he was a kid, and so was used to the usual aches and pains that went with the job; Cas was a desk-jockey, and the jobs he went on rarely ever had him getting banged up this bad, so every time he did get trashed, he seemed to take it pretty hard. Puss.

They hadn’t stayed in the town any longer than it took to get everything out of their motel room and clean Cas’s head wound a bit. Dean hadn’t liked the shallow gash and big purpling bruise on his temple, nor had he liked how Cas kept sitting down on the edge of the bed with his eyes shut as they’d packed, but thems were the breaks. He’d worry about it when they’d put some serious miles between them and Ada. Right now, they had to skip. He’d gotten them out of there quickly, doing most of the loading and lifting—which sucked, because he was hurtin’, too, dammit—but then they were back on the road, leaving that town behind them with one more monster put down for good. 

Dean had blared the radio the whole way on the drive; Cas was looking dangerously drowsy, which was not allowed. Dean had forced him to drink lots of coffee and kept him talking, anything to keep him awake until they found a place where they could hole up and recover. He’d decided that 300 miles was a decent enough distance for a break, safely in another state, and he’d finally gotten off the highway to look for a motel in El Dorado, Kansas. He’d done the checking in, seeing as Cas was still bleeding a bit and the one that was the most obviously hurt between the two of them, and then they’d trudged into their room and shut and locked the doors.

It was barely six in the morning; they’d completed the job late at night and had just driven into the morning. Cas had wanted to sleep then, but Dean would have none of it—he wasn’t going to sleep until Dean knew for _sure_ he was gonna wake back up. Cas had been pissy about it, which was oddly reassuring, but had stayed awake all the same. Dean had periodically walked him through the paces, feeding him aspirin every six hours to help ease the killer headache he knew Cas had even without his whining about it. The only times he’d let Cas out of his sights were to get something to eat at about eight, giving Cas a very deliberate order to _not_ sleep or he would give him a knot on the other side of his head, and once to shower—Cas wasn’t the one who’d gotten tossed around into a bunch of dirty, dusty shit, thank you very much. Cas had obeyed both times, sitting in a stupor the whole time and obviously wishing he could doze off, but he didn’t.

Finally, at about five in the evening, Dean had decided it would be okay for Cas to sleep. He’d been watching him for over twelve hours, and he’d gotten better and better through each of his paces. They’d both eaten the last of the sandwiches Dean had bought from the local gas station, and then they’d both just crashed, crawling into the same bed and falling asleep almost instantly.

And a glance at the clock now told Dean that he’d slept for over twelve fucking hours—shit, it was past nine. And Cas had still woken up before him? Dean wasn’t the one that had gotten whacked over the head with a crowbar!

Groaning a little, he slowly sat up, wincing at all the little creaks and protests his body made; it was still clearly pretty pissed with him for the beating he’d taken and was letting him know. Well, it could deal. He had bigger concerns.

Stupid fucking hunt—this had been awful. He’d booked that motel in Ada for five days, and they’d used pretty much all of it working the case. He’d had no time for—for _anything_. They’d had to skip the last day getting out of town due to the dead body they’d left behind. Goddammit, he and Cas rarely went on hunts with just the two of them—maybe only four or five times a year, _tops_ —and he’d—they’d—

Fuck. Dean _liked_ their hunts, because he just…he just got to _be_ with him. He didn’t have to sneak around, because Bobby and Sam weren’t there to poke their noses in his business, and they could go places and just hang out and shit. They’d been in Oklahoma this time—Red Rock Canyon had been right there; he could’ve taken Cas to see it. And when they were done, he could’ve fool around with Cas as much as he liked, which was fucking _awesome_. But the whole time in Ada, he and Cas hadn’t gotten to do jack shit on top of havin’ to make a speedy getaway. And yesterday Dean had been far too busy playing nurse—and too tired and sore, he’d admit it—to do much of anything but make sure Cas was okay.

But finally, they were here and safe and alone and Dean could have gotten to do what he’d wanted—and Cas had just showered without him. That _bastard_.

Dean fucking _loved_ getting it on in the shower with Cas. Cas always turned the water up way too hot, so things got steamed up in a hurry, and there was all that naked, _wet_ skin that Dean could get his hands on, and Cas fucking loved it, and it was always _clean_ at the end of it, no sticky spooge everywhere, and everything was slick and hot and _awesome_. And now he wasn’t gonna get it. Fuck, Why the hell hadn’t Cas woken him up? Did he think that, just because he’d showered yesterday before lunch, he didn’t want one this morning?

Grumbling to himself, he slowly swung his legs out of bed, reaching down and pressing his hand against his hip a tad—still sore and tender, but he’d live. Lurching out of bed, he reached back and tugged his shorts out of his buttcrack where they’d gotten wedged in the night, shuffling over to the sink so he could get a look at himself in the mirror.

Hmm—jaw was pretty bruised, and he had a split lip. But other than that, he was fine. Those would heal up pretty quick. He needed to see Cas’s head. He’d had it gauzed and bandaged, but Cas had definitely taken it off to shower—Dean could see it neatly folded and tucked into the trashcan because Cas was stupid, but more importantly, he couldn’t really see much blood on it. That was a good sign.

He’d just finished brushing his teeth when the door next to him rattled, and he glanced up as it swung open. There was Cas, his hair rumpled and wet, just a towel wrapped low around his hips. He started a little when he saw Dean standing there, but then his eyes just warmed and Dean rolled his own a little.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, reaching over and turning off the light in the bathroom.

“Morning,” Dean grunted back. “Come here—lemme see your head.”

Cas obediently stepped closer, tilting his head so that the light was shining more directly on his wound. Dean brushed his hair out of the way, scrutinizing the now-scabbed over cut there and the bruised flesh around it. “That hurt too much today?” he asked.

“Not as much as it did yesterday.”

“And just the headache?”

“I took two aspirin when I woke up—it’s much better,” Cas answered.

“You feelin’ dizzy at all? Nauseous? See things okay—no black spots or fuzziness or anything like that?” Dean continued.

“No—nothing.”

Dean let out a little huff—hearing all of that did make him feel better. Combine that with Cas sleeping twelve hours and then bouncing up for a shower with only a headache, along with the fact that his head hadn’t only stopped bleeding, but had completely scabbed over, and Dean was annoyed to realize how _relieved_ he felt knowing that Cas was okay.

“Well, next time be quicker on the draw,” Dean said gruffly, carefully touching the bruises on Cas’s temple and seeing him only wince a little.

“I will. I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough.”

Dean snorted at his honestly apologetic tone. “I shouldn’t complain too much—he got the drop on me, too. And anyway—you’re the one that put him down. Nice one,” Dean added, remembering the image of Cas the Impaler back there, unnecessarily brushing his hair away from his temple where it had fallen again; he was getting a bit shaggy. They’d have to get out Bobby’s clippers when they got back.

“I…I do not enjoy killing…humans,” Cas muttered, his eyes cutting away.

Dean narrowed his eyes a little at his tone, sensing he had more he wanted to say, but was reluctant to do so. After waiting a few seconds, just brushing the damp hair at his temple, Dean said, “But?” to prompt him.

Cas fidgeted a little, and then finally met Dean’s gaze again, and it was straight and clear, just like he wanted to see. “But I’m glad he’s dead,” Cas finally said.

Dean snorted. “I’m not exactly sorry he’s gone, Cas—you can be happy you put a mad dog down. The guy was killing people—and he was gonna kill that poor woman, too. Not that she’s in good shape now,” he muttered, his thumb sliding down to rub lightly on his cheek.

“He tried to kill _you_.” Cas seemed to get a little angry just thinking on it, his eyes going cold and hard for a moment, but he calmed down quick enough, and then went right back to staring at the sink, like he was ashamed of himself.

God, Cas was a moron—things tried to kill Dean all the damn time. What, did he think this was something new? Shaking his head, he lowered his hand, stroking down the side of his neck to rest on Cas’s shoulder, feeling the warm, soft skin there, still a little damp from the shower. “Relax. He didn’t. Now stop bein’ so stupid about it. Job’s done.”

Cas met his eyes again as Dean kept stroking his flesh with his thumb, and where his hand was resting the tips of his fingers were touching right where the faded scars on his back began. They sure were taking their sweet time going away, Dean had noticed. He pushed that thought out of his mind—he didn’t want to be thinking about those right now.

Cas really was always so damn soft after he got out of the shower whenever they were hunting together. Just a result of him standing under there for so long without the hot water running out, he supposed. And he’d be soft all over, too—and all clean. Cas double-washed everything when he was in motels, and was ridiculously thorough about it. Dean could smell the soap from here. He knew he would _taste_ like soap, too…

“So you’re—okay?” Dean suddenly asked, keeping his hand where it was, his fingers moving slowly back and forth.

“Yes,” Cas answered, and Dean could tell, he was perfectly fine with Dean’s hand where it was.

“That good. That’s real good.” The second “good” was a little muffled, though, because Dean had already brought his other hand up, curling it around his middle and pulling Cas towards him, and that warm body was all up against his and he kissed him, licking across Cas’s lower lip and prompting him to lick back.

Well, that did it. The fact that he was irritable he’d missed the shower, the smell of Cas’s soap—soap he’d brought with him, because he refused to use motel soap because of that one time he’d gotten hives—the feel of that clean skin under his hands, remembering Cas skewering that fucker, and feeling Cas’s arms come up to slide across Dean’s shoulders, wrapping around him, the towel on his hips drooping a little…

 _Hell with this._ It wasn’t even ten yet. That was more than enough time.

Though he kept his movements slow, he didn’t waste any time sliding his hands down Cas’s back, right down to his ass. He skipped the towel, getting his fingers under it and loosening it further, and then got a double-handful of that warm little butt. Cas made a sound against Dean’s mouth as Dean pulled him forward, bumping their hips together, and their cocks were soft, but rubbing against each other like this would fix _that_ in short order. Dean never stopped kissing him as he gently steered him backwards, only stopping when he felt Cas bump against the edge of the counter. Not an ideal place to pin him, seeing as he’d probably just wind up bending over backwards and get uncomfortable, but Dean would worry about that when he got there.

By that point Cas’s towel to pretty much only be there because they had it pinned between their hips. Kneading Cas’s ass like he was had undone the knot, and now it was just hanging there, and really, Dean saw no reason for it to stay. So he pulled back just enough to let it flump quietly to the floor, and when he pushed forward again, there was Cas’s hardening cock, bare against his own shorts-covered one.

Cas’s breath was already speeding up, and he kept pressing his hips harder against Dean’s than Dean was doing to him. Dean leaned more into it, and yep, there he went, nearly falling backwards to accommodate him, finally letting go to brace himself against the counter with one hand, his quick breaths hot against Dean’s lips. Dean squeezed his ass one more time and then, on impulse, bent a little, sliding his hands down to Cas’s thighs, gripping them gently and coaxing Cas to spread them before he got a firm hold and pulled upwards, hoping Cas got the message and helped him out. Fortunately, he did, and he felt Cas give a tiny hop even as he reached back with his other arm, using those to help get him up on the counter. It was narrow, so it didn’t leave him much room to scoot backwards and get away from him, and that was good, ‘cause it let Dean ease in and get right in between his legs and rub his hard-on right up against Cas’s again. Oh, yes, this was what he wanted.

Cas gave a little shiver when his bare butt hit the cold surface, but Dean would take his mind off it. He wrapped his arms around him again, low this time, and as he felt Cas hook his ankles on the back of his knees, Dean licked his way down Cas’s neck and then back up, teasing behind his ear, the whole time just keeping his hips rocking.

The fingers in his hair were already tight as Cas held his mouth against his collarbone, moaning softly as Dean gave him a hickey. “ _Dean…_ ” he whispered, and then dragged Dean’s lips back to his own, thrusting his tongue forward and making Dean return the favor; Dean saw no reason not to go along with it. He sighed when Cas’s tongue soothed gently over his cracked lip, and smirked when Cas’s hands started tugging at his shirt.

Dean hadn’t really intended to take it off, but fine, he’d let that one go—changing it wasn’t so bad an idea anyway. So he pulled away long enough to get it over his head and then leaned back into it, feeling Cas’s legs tighten around him as their chests pressed together, and Cas’s fingers dug into his back as he arched up against Dean’s hips again, chasing that pressure, and Dean let him, nuzzling against Cas’s neck and humping him right back.

He supposed he could just…keep this up until they were both done, but he kinda didn’t want to, not just that. He wanted…yeah, of course he wanted to have a good time for himself, sure—show Cas what he got for trying to weasel out of their hunting trip fun and shower without him. And there was the fact that Cas had…done a great job on this trip. He’d gotten a lot of the puzzling done, he’d figured out it wasn’t an angry spirit, and he’d delivered the killing blow to their bad guy. He deserved _some_ kind of kudos for that, didn’t he? That, and Dean…

He wanted to really make it up to him. Just— _really_ make it up to him. There was no way he could actually do that, though God knew he’d been tryin’ the past four months. But that was just it—they were always at Bobby’s, and it wasn’t the _same_ as when they were out on their own. He didn’t feel as free to throw down some seriously good moves. It didn’t matter that he’d apologized after it’d first happened, didn’t matter that he’d apologized the night they’d gotten home and Dean had had to watch him _wince_ right there in front of Sam and Bobby when he’d sat down, and didn’t matter that he’d silently apologized every single time he and Sam dropped by between now and then. He wanted to say sorry. _Really_ say sorry. And, well…he knew how to do that.

Biting down gently where Cas’s neck met his shoulder and making him grunt softly, Dean finally pulled back, giving him a deep, slow kiss before resting his lips right against Cas’s, feeling his breath skating across his mouth. “Cas,” he whispered.

“Dean,” came the breathless reply, and Dean almost chuckled.

“I’m gonna suck your cock,” Dean murmured. Now he _did_ chuckle at Cas’s sharp little inhale and the way his fingers flexed against his shoulders. “Would you like that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Cas said in a trembly voice. “Please suck my cock.”

Well, he most assuredly hadn’t set out to make Cas beg, but hearing him say “please” always got Dean hot, so he didn’t object to it. ‘Sides, helped him keep his mind off the task at hand—he would not enjoy this (which made it a fitting punishment in Dean’s mind), so he had to pay attention to keep on his game. He was gonna do it, sure, and he was gonna put in some serious effort because…because he _needed_ to, but as always, it was never really a _turn-on_. But Cas’s little happy-noises were, so all in all it’d be worth it.

He captured Cas’s lips one more time, but he didn’t stay there long. He pressed a kiss to his chin, then gently tilted his head up to kiss down his neck, taking his time as he just brushed his mouth across Cas’s soft, clean skin. Yeah, part of it was he was delaying the inevitable, but he was also listening to Cas’s little sighs, and knew he was winding him up doing this—that was always a plus.

Cas let go of him, bracing himself again on the counter as Dean slowly kissed a line down Cas’s chest, and by the time he reached his stomach, Cas was trembling. Dean hesitated, and then grimaced a bit both from his smarting hip and his smarting pride as he just went ahead and eased himself down to his knees. He hadn’t been in this position in years, and certainly never with Cas, but he had more important things to worry about right now, like making sure Cas enjoyed himself—and avoiding thinking too much about the fact that he was friggin’ _on his knees_ in front of Cas with his head between his thighs.

Hmph—didn’t matter how many times he’d done this or would do it in the future: having a dick right in his face was never something that he would enjoy. But he looked up at Cas slyly anyway, wrapping his fingers around the base of his cock, smirking at Cas’s big-eyed anticipation. But his smirk didn’t last, because he now had to face his foe, and he _so_ did not like looking up at Cas when he did this—because Cas _watched_ him, and that was just…wrong.

Would Cas ever _not_ twitch violently at that first lick? Probably not. But there was one advantage of doing this just out of the shower—there was even a nice clean taste down here. Which wouldn’t last long, of course, but he’d enjoy it while he could. Once Cas finished wheezing pathetically, Dean braced himself and slowly slid the head of Cas’s prick in his mouth, just sucking lightly; it was gross, of course, but the little quivering moan Cas let out made the whole thing quite tolerable.

He didn’t suck hard—that’d make his mouth go raw in a hurry and he knew it. And he didn’t move his head fast, either. Just slow and steady—God, he’d never get over how fucking _ridiculous_ he had to look doing this, just moving his head up and down. Looking down and watching Cas do it to him was one thing—this was quite another, _much_ less hot thing. But that was because _everything_ was a much less hot thing when he did it, because no matter what, it was still a cock in his mouth.

 _That’s right, and you just take it, Winchester_ , he thought firmly to himself, swirling his tongue once over the slick head before going back to sucking.

As usual, he jerked what he couldn’t reach, and was annoyed to feel that twinge of disgruntled resentment that he got every fucking time he did this—the fact that Cas could go deep and he couldn’t never failed to rub him the wrong way when it came down to it, and he _hated_ that it did at all. Who _cared_ that he couldn’t go deep, because he sure as fuck wasn’t gonna do it even if he could! But the little niggle stayed there, a reflexive swell of irritation that yes, Cas was better at something in bed than Dean Winchester, and he felt it every time just like now, and it almost made him scowl. He kept a lid on that, though—wouldn’t do to look irritated while he was down here, not with Cas watching him. He accidentally had grimaced at what he was doing once and Cas had gotten upset, thinking he wasn’t enjoying himself at all. Which he hadn’t been, but Cas didn’t need to know that.

Pulling his mouth off of Cas’s cock, Dean started up the little licks then, just flickering his tongue over the head and making Cas’s stomach muscles contract every time he did. That was something else that pissed him off: the fact that he was honestly getting better at this. He’d never be as good a cocksucker as Cas—and he was _glad_ , goddammit—but he could now say he had _some_ skill when it came to giving a blowjob. God, that was horrible. Cas already getting all leaky was horrible, too, and he could taste it, all overly-salty and nasty. Dean decided that was part of why he liked to make Cas lick up his own nut-butter on occasion, to pay him back for this.

Dean let go of Cas’s prick so he could massage his balls, cupping them in one hand as he reached up, walking his fingers up his side and then brushing them across one of Cas’s nipples—just habit, but Cas obviously liked it, given he’d just softly said his name. And then he said it again, louder and all stuttery this time, when Dean put his cock back in his mouth and sucked hard for a moment, dragging his tongue over the end before prodding the slit the way Cas always did to him, and felt Cas almost try to arch right up off the counter into his mouth. Which was totally unacceptable—just ‘cause Dean was apologizing for what he’d done to him on last hunt didn’t mean Cas was gonna get to fuck _his_ face or something. That shit was _not_ happening. _Ever._

Dean released his balls and then gripped his hips, holding him securely in place as he continued sucking, just gently moving his head up and down, and couldn’t help smirking a little at the feel of Cas’s foot flexing against his back—because yeah, Dean was totally making his toes curl. When he went as deep as he could go, a dull thump above him caused him to look up, which he _so_ hadn’t wanted to do, but dammit, he didn’t want Cas to be whacking his head against the wall after the other night. So he did look up, and Cas wasn’t staring back, fortunately—and yes, he had thumped his head against the mirror, but was just leaving it there, all tilted back, his eyes tightly closed and his mouth hanging open, his breath mostly just little wheezes at this point. Dean supposed just once was okay—it hadn’t sounded like he’d hit that hard. But if he did it again, Dean would quit. Just see if he wouldn’t.

He never sucked for too long, and he was already right back to just licking, long ones all the way up his cock, little teasing ones at the head, and hard, quick prods all in his cock, using his thumb to spread him a bit so he could get deeper. Dean had _zero_ interest in doing it, granted, because it tasted disgusting and Cas always got even dribblier when he did it, but he enjoyed hearing Cas make those pathetic whines up above him, so he just kept doing it for longer than he normally did.

Dean tensed up when he felt one of Cas’s hands come to rest in his hair, but he didn’t let himself stop—yeah, he never liked it when Cas did that, but he’d come to terms with it. That, and he figured if Cas could smile soppily after…after getting _yanked around_ by the hair, like the last time they’d been in a motel room together, Dean could put up with this. Besides, it wasn’t like he was trying to steer or make him do anything—he just needed something to hold onto, because Dean was awesome and was rocking his world. So there.

He’d gone back to sucking, and he knew Cas was watching him again—he could feel his big, star-struck blue eyes on him, and dammit, he felt the back of his neck heating up. That _always_ happened, and it drove him nuts. Bad enough he had a dick in his mouth, did he have to _blush_ while he was doing it too?! It wasn’t long before Dean had stopped again, going back to licks, because he could feel the beginnings of the raw feeling already, right on the roof of his mouth and along his tongue. Shit.

Dean just listened to Cas’s pants and moans as he licked the tip, then dragged his tongue all down his cock, pausing briefly when he hit the base. He just licked his cock for a moment, deliberating for a moment, one of his hands reaching up to thread its fingers through Cas’s free hand still resting on the counter. And then, before he could think better of it, he went lower, rasping his tongue right over Cas’s balls, and good God, that was weird and kinda nasty, all hairy and shit, but Cas’s helpless jerk and little cry of surprise and the way his fingers tightened in Dean’s hair made him plow forward again. He kept tugging his cock and felt Cas spreading his thighs further as Dean licked his sack again, and then just sucked one of his balls right into his mouth, and he didn’t like it—in fact, this was downright wrong, but Cas was moaning at this point, his fingers tight in Dean’s hair while his other hand squeezed Dean’s painfully, and really, it was kinda funny when Cas’s voice got all high-pitched like that.

But not enough to make him keep doing it. Cas could just deal with getting the one sucked. In fact, blowjob time was over—he’d done his time in the barrel. Dean had no idea how long he’d been down there, but it had been long enough to make his tongue hurt. He seriously needed to scrub his mouth out now, and, well, Cas’s tongue was right up there and would do the job just fine.

Cas was only too eager to shove his tongue down Dean’s throat, and that was way more awesome than his dick. Dean winced a bit as he got too frantic and made his bruised jaw twinge, but it was a small sacrifice—he had no desire to stop kissing Cas, and Cas didn’t really seem all that enthused to stop, either. So everybody won.

Dean grunted when Cas’s hands skimmed down and grabbed his ass, squeezing and pushing him harder between his legs, grinding their cocks together. Dean had, of course, lost a little of his hard-on with his previous activities, but he knew what’d get him back up in no time at all for the big finish.

Dean pulled away from Cas’s mouth, echoing the gasp Cas let out because goddamn, Cas hadn’t let him up for air once. “Grab my dick,” he murmured. “Jerk me off for a bit.”

Cas gave a tiny nod, his shivery breaths right against Dean’s lips, and he finally let go of Dean’s butt. He felt Cas hook his thumbs into Dean’s shorts, but he didn’t try to make Dean get out of them—he just pushed them down enough so that they were out of the way. Dean watched as Cas finally looked away, casting his eyes downward, and Dean _hmmed_ in his throat when he felt those hot fingers wrap around his cock. For a minute, it occurred to him that maybe _he_ should be jerking himself off—makin’ Cas work hadn’t been part of this plan—but he supposed it didn’t matter, ‘cause Cas loved doing getting Dean off. He’d have probably squirmed and grabbed at him anyway even if Dean _had_ started jerking himself.

The pace wasn’t frantic and he wasn’t tight—it was just a steady, loose jerk, and Dean thought it was awesome. Cas was nibbling on his neck while he did it, his other arm wrapped around Dean’s shoulders, holding him close. Dean just kept his palms on the counter on either side of Cas’s butt, resting his forehead against Cas’s shoulder, his eyes closed as he concentrated on Cas’s hand stroking up and down his cock. _Jesus_ , now that he was getting touched himself, he finally realized that, for all of his need to say sorry to Cas, he had _seriously_ needed this himself, ‘specially after the shower being skipped.

It didn’t take too long to get Dean back in the mood, nor did it take him too long to come to the conclusion about what he _really_ needed. He opened his eyes again and pulled back a little, about to reach up and grab them both and race Cas to the finish line, but then he saw the standard little complementary bottles resting in the corner beside the sink. _What the hell_ , he thought, and then reached over and grabbed the tiny one that held the lotion. He probably squirted too much into his hand, but who cared—all that mattered what getting it where it needed to be.

Cas made a little whimpering sound when Dean leaned forward again, nudging his hips forward and pressing their cocks together with his lotion-filled hand. He didn’t move for a second, just stroking his hand slowly up and down, getting them all slicked up, loving the way Cas was ever-so-slightly trembling in his grasp, his thighs tight around his hips as he locked his ankles together behind Dean, holding him where he was.

“You likin’ this?” Dean asked softly, keeping his grip firm.

“ _Yes_ ,” Cas moaned, and then he shuddered and got both arms around Dean’s shoulders when Dean gently thrust forward, sliding their cocks against each other, and he could feel Cas trying to thrust back, but he couldn’t really do it much, not with the way he was pinned in.

“How ‘bout this?” Dean continued, keeping up the gentle rocking of his hips.

“Yes, I like that too, Dean,” Cas answered, all breathless and like he was in serious ecstasy, just like he always answered when they did stuff like this. Awesome.

Dean kept his motions shallow for a bit, just savoring that wonderful, slick sensation of his dick all up against Cas’s, sliding back and forth. Cas had finally wiggled around and so could thrust up a little to meet him, and it just made things even better than they already were. The heat wasn’t building up fast—oh, it was building, but it was more like a slow-burning warmth was filling him up. Of course, Cas had to go and make it hotter by saying his name like that, because that always happened. Readjusting his grip a little, he slowly looped his free arm around Cas’s lower back, pulling him closer to him, and started moving in earnest now. _Fuck_ , this was great. Stupid fucking hunts, makin’ everything go wrong, ruinin’ it for him before, and now making it so he hadn’t had time to do this at all…

Cas’s mouth was suddenly on his, and he kissed back just as hard, doing his best to fight Cas’s tongue into submission. Cas did what he always did when Dean started that up, though, and instead retreated, pulling away and burying his face against Dean’s neck, clinging tightly to him as Dean humped him. Cas’s breath was already coming in quick little pants, and Dean’s was starting to get a little ragged as well. He kept it up for a bit longer, and then pulled his free arm away, reaching up to grab one of Cas’s, tugging his hand down. Cas did it willingly, pulling away and leaning back against the mirror, staring rapturously at Dean as he guided Cas’s hand down between them. Cas got the message, wrapping his fingers around their pricks—good, now Dean could let him go and do what he wanted to do.

Cas kept their cocks together while Dean got both his hands under Cas’s ass, gripping his cheeks tight, and then pulled him forward again and thrust against Cas’s hand faster, almost lifting him off the counter as he did. Cas let out a quavering little cry, clinging harder with his free arm, and Dean was done drawing it out. Now it was time to get down to business, time to _get there_ , and time to make _Cas_ get there, and he leaned forward and gently bit down on Cas’s neck, licking at his pulse as he did.

“Tighter,” Dean grunted against his skin, and Cas obliged, his fingers squeezing a bit more, and _fuck yes_ , just like that—he moved faster, his thrusts short and quick, and he could feel the familiar tightness starting up, running down his legs and curling in his groin. He knew Cas was getting there too, because he’d started up those tiny whimpers, just over and over, but they’d get louder—Dean would see to that, oh yes he would. He never stopped moving, but gripped and squeezed his hands against Cas’s ass, moving one closer and closer to his target, and then Cas let out a pathetic, wheezing moan when Dean finally got the fingers of one hand right on his asshole, just teasing and pressing and rubbing.

Just the idea always got Cas’s blood going, and Dean was close and knew Cas was too, so he didn’t bother trying to do any fingering—no way he _could_ , not at this angle, so he just grabbed him tight and thrust harder against him, sliding one hand around to join Cas’s, and fuck, _fuck_ , so close, he seriously wasn’t sure if he could take much more of this. Cas was leaning his head back against the mirror, his eyes squeezed shut, but Dean knew what’d to it—what’d do it for both of them—

“Look at me, Cas,” he demanded (or panted, rather), and Cas did, his eyes open and bright and staring right into Dean’s, and then he thrust forward and held it, furiously jerking both their cocks at once, and he watched as Cas seized up, his mouth falling open, and then he arched up against Dean and _yes_ , there it was, he was coming, coming in hot, thick spurts on Dean’s hand, and he kept jerking them as he focused everything on that intense heat in his groin, come on, come on, _he had to come now yes yes yes there—!_

Dean threw back his head and didn’t bother trying not to cry out because who the fuck _cared_ , everything just let go and he was fucking _coming_ , coming with Cas, coming _on_ Cas, fuck yes, he could see it, he snapped his head back down, fuck yes, he was coming on Cas, right on his stomach, oh fuck oh fuck fuck Cas _Cas Cas_ —

He didn’t slump down and mash Cas—he managed to catch himself on his arm, despite the fact that Cas was laying limply against the mirror, obviously all made of jelly now. Dean kept his eyes closed and his head bowed as he struggled to catch his breath, shuddering a little as he felt Cas’s fingers squeeze weakly and his cock give one last little dribble.

Carefully, he pried his hand off of their cocks, wincing a bit as Cas did the same. Only then did he open his eyes, and the first thing he saw were the spatters of spunk on Cas’s skin, right there on his stomach. While that was awesome, Dean suddenly became aware that he’d gotten it too. He could feel it, and a glance down at himself—fuck. Cas had moneyshotted him right back. What a bastard.

Fumbling next to them, he turned on the warm water and ran the washrag next to the sink under the tap, getting it nice and wet before dragging it between them, using it on himself first, thank you. Cas just waited patiently for Dean to slap the thing down on his stomach, and then Cas reached up and slowly wiped himself clean, looking like he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world. Once he was done, Dean tossed it back in the sink and leaned forward to kiss Cas softly on the lips.

He just stayed like that for a while; neither of them said anything. That one kiss became more, and Dean reached up to cup Cas’s jaw as Cas petted his chest and slid his fingers across Dean’s back. They just had themselves a nice post-coital make-out. Cas loved those, so Dean would play along. But he finally stopped, pulling away and nuzzling Cas’s neck. He didn’t want to break the silence, but he…felt obligated to do it.

“That nice?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Cas sighed in return, holding him gently against his neck.

“And you’re still okay?”

Cas just _mmmed_ in response.

Dean pressed a kiss to his throat, licking his lips a little as he whispered, “I’m—sorry about everything.” Cas was quiet, and Dean swallowed noisily and reached up to brush his hand against Cas’s ribs. “Love you,” he mumbled against his skin, keeping his face hidden in the crook of his neck and shifting uncomfortably.

Cas’s fingers tightened in his hair, his legs squeezing him a little. Dean thought he might reply, but he didn’t, which was good; he just stayed quiet and stayed where he was.

They sat in silence for a few minutes more before Dean cleared his throat and spoke again, his voice deliberately light. “So, any reason you didn’t invite me in for a shower?” he asked, reaching down to idly stroke Cas’s thigh.

Cas shifted a little. “I…didn’t want to wake you. You were tired,” Cas replied, at least having the good sense to sound guilty now.

Dean just snorted. “I would’ve been fine. Dumbass,” he added, his fingers curling around the back of his neck as he moved so he could lean his forehead again Cas’s. “But doesn’t matter—I’m good.” He flicked his eyes up. “We both good?” he asked, and Cas nodded. Dean let out a sigh and closed the distance again for one more slow, leisurely kiss, and then finally pulled away, letting Cas’s legs slide off his hips and hitching his shorts back up. Dean watched Cas only long enough to see him ease himself down off the counter, his legs trembling a little when he hit the ground, but then he turned away, looking for his own clothes; he didn’t need to watch Cas prance around and be naked. He got his jeans back on and put on a fresh shirt before he scooted past Cas to go brush his teeth again—no way he was gonna skip that after sucking cock.

Well, the hunt was now officially a good one, Dean decided. Sure, it’d had its problems, but who the hell cared anymore? Bad guy was dead, no more ghosts killing people in Ada, and he and Cas were good, heading back home to South Dakota, both of them coming out more or less smelling like roses.

…or rather, faintly of lavender.

He froze, halfway through putting toothpaste on his toothbrush. _Lavender?_

Dean glanced down at the now half-empty bottle of motel lotion sitting there, all innocent…and clearly purple.

His junk smelled like lavender.

And so did Cas’s.

 _…son of a_ bitch _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did it take Dean _four months_ to get around to this much-needed comfort and care? Well, you’ll find out in a couple of days. The reason is spelled B-O-B-B-Y.
> 
> By the way—I’m sure some of you probably noticed the name of our bad guy here sounded familiar. It should’ve—because it’s exactly who you think it is. Yes, I have a massive hate-boner for _Fifty Shades of Grey_ , yes that is the name of the male lead (albeit abbreviated), and no, I will not apologize for that. I’ll have Cas impale him with a crowbar before going back to a motel to have gay sex with his boyfriend all I want, thank you. Would’ve had ‘em do it on his corpse if I thought I could get away with it.
> 
> In all seriousness, this chapter was originally a gift-fic to our beta Gehayi and another fellow writer. They hate the series more than I do, as they are doing an in-depth review of it, and so I drummed this up as a present. It turned into the fic you see now.


	3. Neighborhood Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby is still the big bad papa bear when one of his boys is hurt—and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna let Cas get roughed up just because he doesn’t know any better. A fic detailing what Bobby heard about the events of “Free For All” and what he did about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right. As we promised, here is what was going on behind the scenes during those four months between “Free For All” and “Hot Shot Love”—and why there were four months between the two in the first place. This fic is written by Mrs. Hyde, so we could fill in that gap and see Bobby being awesome.

_May 2026, the day after “Free For All”_

Bobby didn’t like this. He didn’t like it one bit.

Usually everything was all sunshine and daisies whenever Dean and Cas came home from one of their little “hunts,” since that’s apparently what they were callin’ it these days. Dean would be in a good mood because he got laid, and Cas would be all dreamy and happy because Dean was just so damn wonderful. But more importantly it meant that Bobby and Sam would be able to go at least a month before the two of them started to get pissy because they hadn’t had their regular alone time.

But not this time. Right off the bat, Bobby could tell things weren’t good from the way Dean came slouching in. He was moody and bitchy, not looking at anybody, and snapping at Sam when he asked how things went. And then there was Cas, trailing after him and looking…not _unhappy_ , per se, but just a bit fretful. Turned out the hunt had gone sour; they’d gotten the ghost, but said ghost hadn’t gotten justice, which it had _deserved_ for a change, and a serial rapist-killer had gotten away. Dean was such a dyed-in-the-wool do-gooder—to say nothing of his martyr complex—that it had pretty much ruined the whole thing for him. Cas had seemed a little more philosophical about the situation, but if Dean wasn’t happy, then _he_ wasn’t happy, so he was fussy and fluttering around Dean, bringing him a beer and a sandwich and generally being a nuisance until Dean roughly told him to cut it out and sit down.

So Cas did.

And he _winced_ when he did it.

Bobby clenched his jaw against the appalled noise that tried to escape; Sam’s face went so rigid that he might have been made of plastic. Cas didn’t do anything, like he hadn’t even noticed the way he’d cringed when his butt had first hit the seat.

Oh, but _Dean_ noticed. And that’s when Bobby noticed, too.

Just ‘cause Sam and Bobby could always tell that there had been hanky-panky on Dean and Cas’s little trips didn’t mean that they were _overt_ about it. Dean was happy and Cas was floaty, and that was it. Except sometimes things were a little more obvious. Like Cas rubbing a sore jaw or Dean turning up his collar to hide a hickey. And any time something happened to make it a little more clear than usual that they’d been up to no good, Dean would be all squirmy and uncomfortable and red in the face and go slinking around the house like a schoolboy caught looking up the girls’ dresses (and just to make it worse, sometimes this was accompanied by Cas gettin’ just a hint of a strut to his walk, ‘cause Bobby really needed to know who’d been callin’ the shots, and all).

But Dean didn’t duck his head and fidget this time. No, his eyes went wide, his face went red, his jaw went tight—and then he ran.

Bobby watched him charge out the door, his eyes narrowing. That look wasn’t Dean’s usual “I’m-so-straight-let’s-pretend-it-never-happened” thing.

That was _guilt_.

Sam left the room shortly afterwards; Bobby heard him muttering something about hitting his head with a hammer until he forgot what he just saw, leaving Bobby sitting at the table with Cas, who was compulsively straightening all the notes and papers on it from where Sam and Bobby had been searching for new cases before he and Dean had gotten home.

Bobby eyed him; he _looked_ fine, not at all mopey and depressed like he would have been if he and Dean had had some kind of fight or somethin’—Bobby had enough experience playing Marriage Counselor to know that one. Cas wasn’t exactly a chatterbox even on a good day, but Bobby’d been sharin’ space with him for fourteen years, so he could tell that he was in fact a bit on the quiet and pensive side.

Licking his lips a little, Bobby broke the silence. “So…you all right, then?” he asked.

Cas looked up, blinking a little, but just said, “Yes.”

“Even though the hunt didn’t turn out so good.”

Cas just nodded.

Bobby sighed; why was it always like pullin’ teeth to get anything out of Cas? Well, pullin’ teeth up to the point when he just suddenly let loose and would dump way, _way_ more information than Bobby had ever wanted right on his damn head. He tried again. “I mean…nothing happened, did it? Dean’s obviously not so good—he wasn’t an asshole to you or anything, was he?”

Cas looked a little downcast, which immediately put Bobby on edge, but he just said, “No—he was just upset. He did drink too much afterwards—I don’t like it when he does that. But if that’s what he needs to feel better, then it’s all right.”

Bobby’s mouth twisted involuntarily; did Cas even _know_ how he sounded? Although that did bring to light another disquieting piece of information; over the years since Cas had joined their happy little family, Dean had laid off the booze considerably (and Bobby and Sam were both well aware that it coincided with him starting his little relationship with Cas, even if Dean wasn’t). So now, he was to the point that while he did have a drink just like any hunter, he rarely drank with purpose anymore—but seein’ as he was a (mostly) recovered alcoholic, when he did drink these days, he could sometimes get mean.

Cas was carefully tearing a piece of scrap paper into thin, uniform strips; clearly he wasn’t gonna offer up any details on his own.

It was so much worse to know that Bobby wasn’t just gonna be sitting here while Cas babbled about his sex life, but that now he was actively gonna be _asking_ him about.

“So, uh,” he tried, having to clear his throat, “did you two not get to—you know—enjoy yourselves, since Dean was in a funk?”

Cas seemed to brighten a little then, which was a little promising, at least. “No, we did have sex,” he said matter-of-factly. “Dean wasn’t very happy before we did and wasn’t very responsive when I suggested it—I thought I’d upset him at first, because he shouted at me for it—but afterwards he was in a better mood.” He looked proud of himself after this last statement and went back to his paper-tearing.

Bobby felt a bit better about Cas’s attitude, at least; if Dean _was_ mad at him, Cas would have been a lot more upset about things. But he didn’t like the sound of what he’d actually said, that was for sure. “So—he didn’t—wasn’t too _rough_ , or anything?” he hedged. “Didn’t—didn’t _hurt_ you or somethin’?”

“Of course not,” Cas said sincerely. “Well,” he admitted, “it did hurt a little at first, because I didn’t understand why he was spanking me—I thought that I must have done something wrong.”

Bobby could only thank God that he hadn’t just taken a drink of his beer, because he would have sprayed it all over the table. “He—he _spanked_ you?” he demanded incredulously, his voice damn near shrill with unpleasant surprise.

Cas just nodded, seemingly perplexed by Bobby’s appalled tone. Bobby just gawped at him; Cas was apparently getting a bit uncomfortable in the face of Bobby’s horrified silence and finally took it upon himself to volunteer a little info. “It wasn’t just that,” he offered. “Dean stimulated my penis and anus with his fingers while he spanked me, and after I orgasmed he let me perform oral sex—”

“I don’t care about _that_!” Bobby burst out, waving him into silence. Cas subsided, just sat there watching warily while Bobby tried to marshal his shattered thoughts. “Lemme—lemme get this straight,” he finally managed, hunkering down and leaning on his knee. “When you said you—you wanted to mess around—Dean yelled at you and then just grabbed you and started _spanking_ you?” When Cas nodded again, his brows furrowed, Bobby felt himself swelling where he sat. “He— _dammit_ , boy, that is _not_ okay!”

“Yes it was,” Cas said earnestly. “It was like the pizza man and the babysitter in the pornographic video I watched. I didn’t understand it then either, but I do now. I thought I must have made Dean angry at first, but when I realized that it was just another form of sex, I enjoyed it very much.”

“No, it’s _not_ okay!” Bobby snarled. “He should _ask_ before he does shit like that!”

Cas looked confused. “Why should he have to? I love Dean and sex is part of our relationship.”

Bobby buried his face in his hand and prayed for patience. “Cas,” he ground out from behind his fingers, “I’m not talking about just _sex_. I’m talking about being _rough_ like that!” He looked up; Cas’s face was utterly blank except for that stupid way he was knitting his brows; he clearly had no clue what Bobby was talking about. “What, you think it’s okay that Dean _hit_ you?”

“He didn’t _hit_ me,” Cas said, bewildered and defensive. “He was just slapping my rear.”

“But he didn’t _ask_ first!” Bobby yelled. “He can’t just _do_ stuff to you without asking—what if you don’t like it?!”

“But I did like it.”

Bobby dropped his head, hanging it down low where he was resting his elbows on his knees. “Cas,” he said to the floor after a long moment, “just—I don’t care that you did like it—people are just always supposed to _ask_ before doin’ stuff like that. If Dean wanted to do it and you liked it, fine, but he should have _asked_ you first if you wanted to do it. You should be able to say _no_ , in case you didn’t think you _would_ like it.”

He looked up, begging who or whatever might be listenin’ up there that Cas would just get it—

“But I was the one who asked for sex.”

Bobby gave up. “Fine, Cas,” he said tiredly, rubbing his eyes. “Everything was just great and you liked what he did.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed.

 _But I_ don’t. Bobby raised his head, turning to look out the back window; he could see Dean outside by the car. _I’m watchin’ you, boy_ , he thought darkly. _Cas may be too dumb to get it, but I know that wasn’t right—and I think you do, too_.

* * *

_One month later…_

“So, I was thinkin’—since this one is a ghost job, that means Cas should be on it, so Sam can stay here and I can—

“No.”

“What?”

“No. I’m up to my eyeballs in research, and I ain’t about to do it all by myself—Cas stays here.”

* * *

_Two months later…_

Bobby trudged up the stairs. Sam and Dean had headed out early this morning. That wasn’t too unusual in and of itself—but what made it weird was that they’d just rolled in yesterday evening. When Tweedledee and Tweedledum arrived on Bobby’s doorstep, it was usually for longer than a one-night stay. He was home base, not a one-stop motel or something. They could have stayed in any two-bit dive, or even slept in the car on the side of the road—why the hell did they take a detour two hundred miles out of their way just to stop in for the night?

Probably the same reason they’d been doin’ that for two months. Bobby’d seen more of the boys over the past couple of months than he had for some _years_ ; the two of ‘em were using any excuse to drop in, even for just one night, and for no reason that they could explain.

Or rather, for no reason that Dean _would_ explain.

Sam had just rolled his eyes when Bobby confronted him about it, said that Dean must be missin’ the wife or something. But no, no, Bobby knew things that Sam didn’t. Stuff that he didn’t _want_ to know, but felt he needed to all the same.

He growled a little under his breath when he reached the top of the staircase. It’d been one of the biggest mistakes of his life all those years ago when he’d told Cas that he could talk to him if he needed advice about Dean—‘cause Cas was an idiot and took that to mean that Bobby actively wanted to hear _every single detail_ about their sex lives. It’d taken him _years_ to train him out of just dumping the details on him with the slightest provocation—and here he was, undoing all that hard work and setting himself up to have to go through all that all over again.

‘Cause yeah, he was comin’ up here yet again to ask Cas just what he and Dean had gotten up to.

He’d been askin’ that every time Dean had come home, ‘cause he had to make sure that Dean had been treatin’ him right ever since the two of them had gone on that hunt that went bad and Dean took it into his head to get drunk and _beat his boyfriend_.

Not that Cas saw it thataway. No, as far as Cas was concerned, these past months were some of the best he’d ever had. ‘Cause every time Dean had been home since then, Cas had gotten lucky. See, since they always managed to advertise that they’d been screwin’ around, even when they didn’t mean to, Bobby was well aware that their little escapades had tapered off over the years—at least when they were here. If Dean got home from a long trip, yeah, he’d go get himself a nice welcome home and Cas would be in his happy little haze the next day, but after that they’d settle down, no more of that nonsense even though the two of them would share the same bed for as long as Dean was home. And if Dean just dropped by for a quick stay or if he hadn’t been gone too long, there wouldn’t be any of that at all; these days they seemed to reserve their Fun Time for when they were off in a motel room by themselves.

Not lately. No, every time Dean stopped in, Cas would spend the entire next morning wordlessly telling the world that Dean was just the best lay ever. In fact, it was getting so out of control that by now it was painfully obvious that Dean wasn’t just gettin’ some sex when he stopped by—no, he was stopping by just so he _could_ get some sex.

Or maybe it was more accurate to say that he was _giving_ some sex—because every time that Bobby had forced himself to ask Cas what they’d done so he could make sure Dean wasn’t roughin’ him up again, he’d been forced to hear a litany of all the wonderful things that Dean had let Cas do or had done for Cas. “Oh, Bobby,” Cas would say in rapture, “it was so beautiful—last night Dean anally penetrated me with his fingers while he stimulated my penis—I love that, but he never does that for me when we’re here!” Or, “Oh, Bobby, it was wonderful—last night Dean let me have intercrural sex with him! I so rarely am the active partner when we do that!”

Yeah—Dean was being _submissive_ , was what he was doing, even if Cas was too stupid to realize it—and Bobby had a very good idea _why_ he was doing it. Which was why he was here—to once again ask Cas what he and Dean did last night. And once again, he knew Cas would be all too happy to tell him.

 _Screw Dean for comin’ home so much this month anyway, ‘cause that just means that much more nasty shit I have to listen to_. Setting his mouth, he thumped on Cas’s closed door. “Cas,” he hollered through it, “you covered up?”

“Yes, Bobby,” came the answer; Bobby had learned that that question was pretty much required, what with him givin’ Cas’s permission to be naked whenever he wanted in his room so long as he didn’t prance around the rest of the house with nothin’ on.

“Cas,” he started, pushing open the door, “I was just—”

Whatever Bobby had been planning to say disappeared, and he stopped dead in the doorway.

Cas was sitting in bed, obviously naked despite the sheet pulled over his hips, reading a book with a box of chocolates sitting next to him.

Cas looked inquisitively at him while Bobby’s mouth worked. Finally, he managed to ask, “What in the _hell_ are you doin’?”

Cas blinked. “I’m reading my new book,” he said slowly, as if worried that it was the wrong answer.

Which it was. “Cas, you’re sittin’ up here naked in bed eating _bonbons_!” Bobby said in disbelief. He stomped over to the bed and grabbed the lid of the box. “ _Christ_ , boy, this is a _seventy-dollar box of chocolates_ —what the hell are you doin’, wastin’ money on crap like this just so you can sit up here like a pampered little princess?!”

“I didn’t waste any money,” Cas protested. “These were a gift from Dean.”

Bobby stared at him, and then down at the box in his hand. “A gift from Dean,” he said slowly. Cas nodded. “You mean to tell me that Dean brought you a seventy-dollar box of candy from—” he squinted at the box top, “from ‘Posh Chocolat’ in Missoula, Montana?”

“Yes,” said Cas serenely.

“ _Why_?”

“No reason in particular that I know of,” Cas said. “Dean is just being thoughtful and kind.”

Bobby’s snort was involuntary, and swift on its heels was suspicion. He looked down at the box in his hand; it wasn’t that big, given what it cost, and on the inside of the boxtop he saw all the chocolates and their fillings—they were all filled with weird crap like rosewater and saffron, garam masala, Earl Grey and lavender—exactly the kind of herbal shit that Cas loved.

“Would you like one?” Cas’s offer interrupted Bobby’s perusal of the chocolate box. He looked down at him, and his eye landed on the book currently propped up in Cas’s lap. It was a big hardcover on the Grand Tetons, the kind sold in park gift shops, and open to a glossy panoramic photograph of the mountains.

“Lemme guess—that new book is from him, too?” he asked, pointing.

Cas nodded happily.

“Just what else has he been bringin’ you?” Bobby wanted to know.

“He brought me some pineapple juice last week,” Cas said immediately, “and he took a lot of pictures of the wildflowers in bloom in the Black Hills, and he brought me two big cinnamon rolls before that, and—”

Bobby took it upon himself to interrupt this frankly ridiculous litany. “And you had a good time last night, too?” he said, cutting across him and dreading the answer.

Cas’s face went rapturous. “Oh, yes, Bobby, it was wonderful. Dean let me be on top—”

“On _top_?” Bobby’s voice was a squeak; the words had popped out without his say-so.

Cas looked surprised by the interruption. “Yes—he doesn’t usually.”

“He let you— _top_?” He couldn’t help himself—it was like watching a trainwreck. “You mean, he let you—have _sex_ — _with_ him?”

Cas stared in confusion, but then his face suddenly cleared. “Oh—I didn’t mean _intercourse_ , Bobby,” he said. “We were just frotting together, but I got to be on top. We never have intercourse here,” he added helpfully, “and when we do, I am never the penetrative partner—”

“Okay, _fine_!” Bobby put a stop to that line of thought immediately. Bad enough that his imagination had run away with him; the reality would be much worse. “I just—I just wanted to make sure that—that you were okay,” he finished lamely. “That everything was—good.”

“It was, Bobby. And after, he held me until I fell asleep.” Cas’s eyes had that dewy look that they always did when he was going on about sex with Dean, and Bobby knew that he’d be useless for at least another half hour now.

“Well, that’s good for you, then,” he grunted. He looked down at the boxtop in his hand and set it down next to Cas—and snagged himself a hazelnut truffle (the least-weird kind he could find) and popped it in his mouth (and weird or no, it was damn good—Dean had spared no expense, that was for sure). “You—you just sit up here and enjoy your chocolate and your book,” he said as he chewed, and Cas nodded contentedly.

Bobby clumped out the door and shut it firmly behind him, taking a deep breath before his mouth set into a hard line.

Yeah. Comin’ home damn near twice a week to see Cas, cuddling him, lettin’ him have his way with him, and now bringin’ him girly little presents. Someone was feeling guilty as hell. If Bobby hadn’t already been sure, this would have confirmed it.

 _Dammit, Dean—that was_ not _a consensual spanking_.

* * *

_Three months later…_

“Okay—I guess since there are two jobs, we could split up and tackle ‘em both at once—if you’re not too old to be in the field, of course.”

“Screw you, you little bastard—when I’m too old for this job, I’ll be dead.”

“Well, all right, then—you and Sam can hit the shapeshifter down in Georgia, and Cas and I will—”

“No.”

“What do you mean, _no_?”

“I mean no. The one in Wyoming’s a weird one, and that job needs more than just the monster-wiki—that one needs somebody with brains. You two handle the shapeshifter— _I’ll_ take Cas with me.”

* * *

_August 2026, just after “Hot Shot Love”_

Sam and Dean had headed out early again that morning; Bobby couldn’t say he was surprised. That curse ridin’ their asses had a way of doin’ that, especially when they got too comfortable settled in one place. And they’d been spendin’ an awful lot of time here at his place over the last few months. It was just askin’ for trouble, and Bobby had a hunch that it was time to collect, and that the boys wouldn’t be back here for a while.

He flicked his eyes up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs; there was Cas, padding down in his shorts and T-shirt. He didn’t seem upset to see that Dean wasn’t sitting down here; Bobby guessed he’d already had his goodbye.

“Mornin’,” he grunted.

“Good morning, Bobby,” Cas said, passing by him to go into the kitchen and start breakfast.

Cas had just gotten back a few days ago from a hunt with Dean—the first one they’d been on together in nearly four months. Not a too terribly long stretch between dates, although longer than was usual for these days—but not as long as Bobby had wanted it to be. Not after what happened on their last one. He’d done a pretty good job putting Dean off from taking Cas anywhere, but that idiot angel had to go ruin things. Cas had cottoned on to the fact that Bobby was keeping him in dry dock and had gotten quite pissy for the past few weeks when he’d realized it, culminating in a quiet tantrum where he’d told Bobby in no uncertain terms that he wanted to go with Dean, so he was gonna. Bobby had thrown in his face that he’d been getting more than enough action from Dean right here at the house so he didn’t need to go anywhere with him, but Cas had set that pointy little jaw of his, his mouth tightly pursed, and they all knew when he got that look, well, there wasn’t much you could do but let him have his way.

Brat.

Cas was quick in the kitchen; he hadn’t been in there long before he was setting down plates of cheesy scrambled eggs and toast, and then filled up their glasses with milk and orange juice (and the requisite helping of that damned fiber). Bobby eyed him when he sat down. He felt vaguely guilty for it—he knew Dean better than that, knew that whatever went on between these two, Dean was over the moon about Cas—but his first reaction at seeing the ugly bruise on Cas’s head had been to think the worst.

He was ashamed of himself immediately afterwards, even more so when Dean told ‘em how Cas had pretty much saved Dean’s life by takin’ out a necromancer even with a possible concussion, but dammit, how could he not think stuff like that, after what happened on their last hunt?

“How you feelin’ today?” he asked as he salted his eggs. “Your head all right?”

Cas nodded around a mouthful of toast, washing it down with a slug of OJ before saying, “Yes—I don’t have a headache, and it only hurts if I touch it.”

“That’s good. Sorry this hunt went south on you, too, though” he added.

Cas shrugged, a little uncomfortably. Since taking up the job of a hunter, he’d proven himself more than willing to put down any monster that crossed his path, but he was considerably less sanguine about taking down monsters of the human variety. “Don’t worry about it, kid,” Bobby said. “You did what you had to.”

“Yes. He was going to kill Dean,” he said, and a note of steel entered his voice, his eyes sharp and hard, but then he quickly lost it and went back to his breakfast again.

They ate in silence for a while, during which Bobby geared up for his now habitual question. “So,” he said as casually as he could after polishing off his milk. “Was it all bad? You two still—still get to have some time to yourself?”

Cas looked up again, and it was obvious that he liked that subject a whole lot more than the hunt part of the trip. “Oh, yes,” he sighed. “Dean was so wonderful.”

“What’d you do?” Bobby asked resignedly.

“It was _so_ lovely—I showered by myself, but when I got out, Dean was there, and he held me and kissed me, and then he had me sit up on the sink counter and performed oral sex on me—it was amazing.”

Bobby waited for the other shoe to drop; when it became obvious that Cas was spacing out over the Amazingness That Was Dean, Bobby prompted him, “That all?”

Cas shook himself a little. “No—after that, he got up and rubbed his erection against mine until we orgasmed.” He sighed. “I love Dean.”

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I know.” _And Dean had better be glad of it_.

Okay. It sounded like…things were all right. _No_ , he wasn’t just saying that so he could stop hearing all the details of Dean and Cas’s sex life—it really did sound like things were back to normal. If nothing else, it was pretty clear that Dean knew he’d crossed a line last time and he was sorry and was at least trying to make up for it—he’d better just make sure it never happened again.

Cas was drawing abstract lines in the leftover scraps of cheese on his plate, punctuated by dreamy little sighs. Yeah, he wasn’t here right now. Bobby snorted and stood, ruffling Cas’s hair a little (careful to avoid his bruise). Cas looked up and acknowledged the rough caress with one of those tiny almost-smiles of his, and then went back to mooning out the window.

Bobby shook his head and picked up their plates. _All right, Dean—you’re off the hook. For now, anyway—but I catch you roughin’ up that stupid angel again, and I’ll beat your ass with a tire iron._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, if Bobby had actually heard the explicit _details_ of what went down rather than Cas’s very softened, summarized report of what had happened? Believe me when I say that Dean’s beautifully constructed transparent closet would’ve been blown to shit by a furious Bobby Singer. Don’t commit drunken domestic abuse around Bobby, Dean. That is the most unwise thing you could possibly do.
> 
> And as for Cas, as you can see, during "Free For All" he wasn't just rolling over and offering himself up for Dean to abuse--he honestly doesn't understand that it was wrong. He simply likes what Dean likes, and since that was how Dean wanted sex, he enjoyed it by default and doesn't see what the problem is, and nothing anyone says is going to change his mind.


	4. Civil Disobedience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately for Bobby, Cas is only selectively stupid—he’s too dumb to know that what Dean did to him is Not Okay, but he’s smart enough to figure out that Bobby was keeping him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that “quiet tantrum” that Bobby mentioned Cas had that resulted in him letting Cas go on a date with Dean much earlier than he would’ve liked? Here you go.

_Set during “Neighborhood Watch,” just before “Hot Shot Love”_

Bobby slid his bookmark (a battered, folded piece of cardboard from a sixpack case) between the pages of the grimorie he was reading and capped his whiskey before standing up and stretching. He figured it was time to break for a nap—he’d had to pull an all-nighter with this case for Rick and Walsh, and by this point he was running on fumes. At least he’d found what they needed, though. Now he was just workin’ on some things for himself, and takin’ a break wouldn’t mean life or death. He didn’t want to sleep too much, because that’d just be a disaster for his schedule, but four hours sounded good. That’d probably recharge him enough to get back to his Latin translations.

‘Sides, after the shit he’d had to put up with today, he deserved a damn nap.

He scowled as he circled around the desk and headed for the stairs. That dumbass angel—except how he wasn’t bein’ a complete dumbass this time, was he? No, he’d clued in to something goin’ on—only it was the wrong thing! He’d finally figured out that Bobby had been keeping him home lately rather than letting him go on hunts with Dean—only he still hadn’t figured out _why_. So he was a dumbass, but he was never a dumbass about the things Bobby _wanted_ him to be stupid about! Like the fact that his attempts to keep Cas homebound and away from Dean were in reality him trying to keep him away from his _abusive boyfriend_.

After what happened on their last hunt, Dean roughin’ Cas up and Cas bein’ too stupid to know what was going on, Bobby was determined to keep Cas and Dean apart for a good long while unless he was nearby. He didn’t care that Dean was rollin’ over and showin’ his belly to Cas every time he came home and didn’t care that Dean had dialed back on his drinkin’ more than Bobby had ever seen him do; no way he was trusting Dean that readily so soon after it happened. It was _for Cas_ —but Cas didn’t see it that way. No, all he saw was a mean, bitter old man who was keeping him away from his love and Bobby was cruel for doing it—and that’s exactly what he’d told him, too, once he’d figured out what Bobby was doin’. Bobby’d tried to explain things, but Cas hadn’t listened (because _that_ he was a dumbass about). It’d culminated in a big fight after lunch a few hours ago, with Cas having an impressive tantrum and _demanding_ Bobby allow him to go with Dean when he came home after their hunt and Bobby most emphatically refusing—and so Cas had flounced upstairs, stomping the whole way. Bobby had been almost disappointed that there hadn’t been a mighty slam of a door.

It was like livin’ with a _teenaged girl_.

Oh well, he thought as he climbed the stairs. Not the first time Cas had thrown a fit at him, and it wouldn’t be the last. The perils of owning an angel, he guessed.

And then ownership got a lot more perilous when he reached the top of the stairs and saw the legs sticking out of his bedroom door.

He just stopped and stared for a few seconds, blinking, unable to believe what he was seeing. But then he moved. “Cas?” he demanded, walking quickly over. “Cas, what the hell are you doing?”

Cas didn’t answer until Bobby had come to stand right next to him, and even in his prone position Bobby could see that he had that familiar chin-jut going, and his arms were folded tightly over his chest. “I’m lying here in your doorway, Bobby,” he replied pissily. “If you couldn’t see that, perhaps you should’ve brought your glasses.”

Bobby resisted the urge to kick him in the knee. “Get the hell out of my room,” he growled.

“No.”

Bobby’s spine went rigid, but before he could lay into Cas for that one, Cas kept talking.

“I am not moving,” he continued. “I am going to lie here until you let me go on a hunt with Dean.”

Bobby just stared at him, unable to believe what he was hearing. But he snapped out of it quickly enough. “You— _get up_ ,” he repeated, stonily, reaching down and grabbing Cas by the arm so he could haul him to his feet.

Cas didn’t move until right when Bobby had gripped his forearm, and then he yanked his arm right out of his hand. Bobby yelped when he nearly got lost his balance and went crashing down to the floor. He barely caught himself, stumbling backwards and nearly running into the wall when he overbalanced, but then he straightened. Cas just glared balefully up at him from the floor.

“You can’t move me, Bobby. I’m stronger than you.”

Bobby gawped, but then snapped his mouth shut. “Or I could just _shoot you_ , you little shit,” he snarled.

“You could. But you won’t,” Cas replied tersely.

Bobby fumed silently, and then threw up his hands. “Fine. You lay there all you want.” Then he turned on his heel and stomped back down the stairs, throwing himself on the couch.

He hadn’t been laying there a minute when he heard Cas shouting down the stairs.

“I drank a half-gallon of grape juice today, Bobby!”

Bobby clenched his jaw, staring hard at the ceiling. He wouldn’t. He _wouldn’t_.

 _Yes, he_ so _would_ , a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind.

But then—

“And Jody is coming over tonight! You were busy last night and forgot that she had the night off tonight—I took the liberty of inviting her over for you! She’ll be here at eight!”

_Checkmate._

“ _Fine!_ ” he roared, launching himself off of the couch and storming back up the stairs. “Get the hell out of my doorway, you craphead!” he bellowed when he reached Cas’s legs. “Get up and get in your room and pack your stupid bag! _Go_ with Dean—but don’t come cryin’ to me when he _beats you_ again!”

Cas huffily got to his feet, his nose in the air and his expression full of positively _angelic_ self-righteousness that made Bobby want to break a foot off in his ass. “Dean would _never_ beat me,” he said dramatically. “He _loves_ me.” And then he swept into his room and slammed the door.

_Bastard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. When Cas decides he wants something, as you can see, he is not spineless. He’s perfectly capable of standing up for himself, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants, to hell with what anybody else says.
> 
> But, of course, in typical angelic fashion, he won’t just _go_ without Bobby’s permission. No, he has to have a “yes” first. Even if it’s a coerced, unwilling “yes”.


	5. Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds out that lashing out at Cas has rather appalling lasting effects that he didn’t count on.

_One year later_

Dean was buzzed, but not pleasantly so. A pleasant buzz was when you drank a few beers or six and felt all warm and fuzzy and could just sit in a stupor for hours and not have a care in the world. It wasn’t a pleasant buzz when you actually _had_ a care. And Dean had a care, all right.

It wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened on a job—and he was sorry to say, it wasn’t like this was something that never happened at all. But…he still hated it when it wasn’t the bones bein’ burned that put the spirit down, but the spirit exacting its revenge on the saps it was haunting.

And that was pretty much what had happened. He’d caught wind of the case when two consecutive disappearances had cropped up in the small town of Sterling, Colorado. Both suspicious, given that there were absolutely no leads, and he’d wanted to get out of the house anyway—on top of that, it was a short drive. So he’d taken Cas with him and they’d quickly figured out what was going on when they’d rolled into town just in time to hear about a _third_ disappearance. Turns out that all three of the guys knew each other—and they were regular cut-ups, always making trouble and being general dicks. Well, them and their fourth pal, who’d been hard to dig up—he’d tried to go into hiding, scared out of his wits because all of his friends were dying. He’d not been hard to crack, either. He and Cas has found out that one night, he and his other merry men had been out joyriding—while drunk, naturally—and they’d wound up hitting someone who’d been out taking a walk that evening. Turns out the individual in question, a one Frank Garson, hadn’t taken too kindly to that and had come back from beyond the grave to get his own justice.

And he’d gotten it.

Burning his bones hadn’t been enough—the dumb bastards had ditched the car, hiding it out in the woods outside of town, and there’d been some blood and leftover bits of roadkill on the bumper that they hadn’t washed off. Frank had stuck around, and he’d taken out his last murderer before Dean and Cas could stop him. And then he’d just vanished.

Dean sighed, fiddling aimlessly with the neck of his beer while Cas continued to flit about the motel room and pointlessly tidy the place. It really didn’t matter that those guys were dicks and were trying to get away with manslaughter—because they were just _dicks_ , not, you know, evil murdering sons of bitches who needed to be put down. They were just…assholes. Just people. He still…felt the need to save ‘em, and still felt rotten when the ghost got ‘em, no matter if the ghost was justified or not.

_Hmph._

Now he was back in his motel with Cas, who’d been pragmatic and indifferent to everything as usual (because he was a bitch when it came to this shit), and Dean knew that Cas would probably start sidling up to him soon because that’s just what he _did_. Rain or shine, bad hunt or good hunt, once the job was done, Cas wanted sex. And Dean…wasn’t really up for the usual shenanigans tonight. He just didn’t _feel_ like it—but Cas never understood that. If Dean wasn’t up for it for any reason other than that he just didn’t want to, then Cas went into a complete funk, convinced that it was all his fault and he’d done something terrible to deserve Not Getting Sex. Dean sighed; he supposed he could claim a headache—

 _Yeah, or maybe you could just say you’re on your period_ , a voice in his head sneered. He twitched irritably. No, he wouldn’t do _that_. Annoying as the voice was, it was totally right—that was _so_ fucking girly there was no way he was gonna go through with it.

No, if Cas came wandering over for his usual expected _some_ , Dean would give him some, just to keep him happy. He supposed he could manage a handjob. But nothing else—he just…didn’t want to. He just wanted to sleep it off. Well, there was that: at least letting Cas get him off would help him sleep better. Always did.

Dean was halfway through with his last beer for the night when it happened, right on schedule—Cas finished straightening the stack of magazines that was in their room, and then he came slinking over, looking all tentative and fretful, obviously aware of Dean’s less than enthusiastic mood. Dean didn’t do anything to discourage him, but he didn’t do anything to _en_ courage him, either, and he was unsurprised when Cas slowly came over and then sank down to the floor in front of him, leaning forward and resting against his knees, and it didn’t matter that Dean wasn’t really looking forward to the usual tonight, just that sight alone amused him a little—Cas all forlorn down there. It was kinda funny.

“Dean?” he murmured, one hand lightly stroking his thigh.

Dean sighed, waiting for it. Lack of enthusiasm never put Cas off before; he’d ask if Dean wanted a blowjob, and Dean would probably let him, and afterwards he’d just tug Cas up onto the couch and get a hand in his pants and finish it off—

“If…it would make you feel better…”

_Do I want you to suck it—yeah, yeah, spit it out—heh, that’s what she said—_

“…Would you like to spank me?”

 _Dean_ spit it out, choking on the swig of beer he’d just taken and trying not to hose Cas down with his halfway-aborted spit-take. “ _What?! No_ , you—!” he finally managed after he’d coughed and spluttered and slammed his beer bottle back down on the table, staring down at Cas in abject horror.

Cas just stared back, confused and alarmed and utterly _clueless_ —

 _Goddammit! God_ dammit _! Son of a BITCH!_

There wasn’t anything he could do but just yank Cas up into his arms and hold him, which then turned into kissing him, and Cas’s eager response did not help anything because _dammit_ , what the _hell_ —for fuck’s sake, why did— _he hadn’t meant to do that that night!_ It was just—

It didn’t much matter what it was (and it didn’t matter that that was the shittiest excuse _ever_ ), because Dean felt sick and horrible all the same. And he didn’t stop feeling sick and horrible, stripping Cas off right there, not even bothering to take him over to the bed, and Cas moaned in ecstasy when Dean just threw all dignity out the window because he didn’t fucking _deserve_ it and sank down on his knees and started sucking Cas off. He barely noticed how gross it was or how his tongue and jaw started hurting and didn’t think about how he might actually be feelin’ that in the morning, and even then, he didn’t care—because _that_ he deserved, because he’d—

He kept at it so long he almost forgot to pay attention to how close Cas was getting (but not enough to keep going and accidentally wind up with a ball-shrinkingly nasty surprise—though he would’ve deserved _that_ , too). Only when he realized that Cas was on the home stretch did he finally get up and drag him over to the bed, detouring long enough to get out the heated lube, and when they got there he didn’t let Cas do anything but take him out of his clothes. He refused to let him go down on him, though Cas had tried—Dean refused to let him _work_ , just greased up his own thighs and guided Cas’s dick in between them and held him tight _everywhere_ while Cas rutted and moaned and clung back. Because Dean had sucked his cock for so long, it didn’t take Cas but a few minutes before he was thrusting desperately up against him and crying out, and Dean felt him spunking up all between his legs and on his balls, and the whole time he just held him close, with one hand pressed against Cas’s ribs.

He didn’t push Cas off when he pretty much collapsed on top of him, all hot and heavy and panting, and he didn’t make his usual objections when Cas finally pulled back a little and started petting him, not making any effort to move even though every movement down south felt gross. He just held him, and let Cas do what he wanted.

However, Cas eventually moved on his own, and Dean saw that he’d been waiting to get his breath back—and now he was about to launch his own plans. Dean quickly put a stop to that. “Go on,” he said brusquely. “Clean off.” And he gave him a very light push in the direction of the sink.

Cas just gave him a gooey, soppy look (which made Dean’s insides squirm uncomfortably) before following his orders, leaving Dean free to mop up his own mess. Sitting there in Cas’s spooge had made him lose his own half-boner, which was a good thing. By the time he was done and had pulled his shorts back on, Cas was wandering over, and Dean saw he still had that crafty look in his eye—Dean knew what he was up to. Well, it wasn’t happening, because Dean didn’t want to, and he made that clear. He quickly got under the covers and reached over and grabbed Cas’s arm, tugging him down into bed with him, covering him up, and making him face the other way before tucking up against him.

“Dean,” Cas murmured softly, wriggling a bit and trying to turn around (while grinding his butt against Dean’s crotch, dammit).

“No, Cas,” Dean muttered, tightening his grip on him and pressing his face against the back of Cas’s neck. “Not now. Go to sleep.”

No, Dean was not gonna let Cas go on some mouth-marathon or anything like that. Not tonight.

Dean didn’t deserve to get off, either.

* * *

_The next evening…_

Bobby could not believe it. He just…couldn’t. But no matter how much he didn’t want to, it was hard to ignore the evidence right in front of his face. He’d damn near done a one-eighty, and was _mad_ that he had felt guilty for thinkin’ bad about Dean when Cas had come home from their hunt with that huge bruise on his head last year.

He’d been suspicious the second Dean walked in the door—they’d already called ahead, sayin’ the hunt hadn’t gone well, and then Bobby had actually seen him. Seen him slinking around lookin’ all _guilty_ again—but not in the usual “I think I got away with something naughty” way that he usually did after he and Cas had a wild weekend of it. Nope, he was slinking the _other_ way—the “I did something horrible to Cas” way that had made Bobby to keep Cas pinned down at the homestead for four months after the last time he caught him doin’ it.

Bobby’d sworn that if he ever caught Dean roughin’ up Cas again, he’d beat _him_ in return. And he’d damn well _meant it_ , and right now he was gearin’ up to go find Dean wherever he was hiding outside and let him _have_ it. But first, he wanted all of the facts—mostly so he would have a full arsenal of every little thing Dean had done to throw in his face when he was tearing him a new asshole.

Cas was up at the sink when Bobby came stompin’ back inside from the garage, and he glanced up from his dishes when the door slammed shut. His brow furrowed as he looked at him. “Bobby, why do you have a tire iron?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Workin’ on a car,” Bobby lied brusquely. “Sit down.”

Cas obediently finished drying his dish and wandered over to the kitchen table, sliding easily into his seat and folding his hands on the rough wood; Bobby couldn’t help but notice that at least there was no _wincing_ this time. Bobby sat across from him, setting the tire iron down with a _thunk_ on the tabletop. “So,” he started, “bad hunt again?”

Cas’s lips pursed. “Not…bad, but certainly not how Dean likes them to go. He doesn’t like it when people are killed, even if they did justifiably incur the spirit’s wrath.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bobby said dismissively. “He drink?”

Cas nodded, and Bobby’s fingers curled around the cold metal as his jaw clenched. “He did,” Cas replied, but then his next words (barely) loosened the knot of tension and anger that had started winding tighter in Bobby’s gut. “But it wasn’t bad. He was simply unhappy.”

Bobby would never get over how Cas sounded when he talked like that—was playin’ the part of the abused woman to the hilt, anyway. But then he steeled himself and asked what mattered. “And how did your _foolin’ around_ go?” he ground out, managing a very small and strained smile, his leg bouncing impatiently.

Cas’s look cleared immediately and that just made Bobby madder. “It was beautiful,” Cas said blissfully, but then his eyebrows furrowed a bit. “But it was a little odd—at first I was afraid I’d made him angry again when I suggested sex.”

 _Dean, you are gonna_ get it _!_ Bobby snarled internally, already about to jump out of his seat and charge Dean. But then Cas continued.

“He became so agitated when I asked if he would like to spank me.”

Bobby’s righteous fury kind of crashed and burned. “…What?” he managed flatly.

Cas was staring out the window, obviously looking for Dean. “I asked him if he would like to spank me—I knew he was unhappy about the hunt, and since he felt better after spanking me on the last hunt that didn’t turn out well, I thought he might want to do it again.”

Bobby just stared. He had _nothing_.

Since Cas apparently couldn’t find Dean outside so he could gaze dreamily at him from a distance, he returned his attention to Bobby, his eyes clearing again even though his face stayed all gooey. “But I was wrong—I don’t know why he was so upset at first, but then he pulled me close and held me and kissed me so much. He performed oral sex on me, and he let me have intercrural sex with him,” he sighed. Then the eyebrows went together again. “I don’t understand why he wouldn’t let me bring him to orgasm last night, though. I admit, I was…somewhat unfulfilled, despite how _wonderful_ Dean had been.” His look brightened once more. “But I joined him while he was showering in the morning and we frotted together. That made me happy.”

Well, wasn’t that just good for Cas that he was happy. Because Bobby sure as hell wasn’t. In fact, this was probably even _worse_ than what he’d originally thought. He had a good mind to beat Dean anyway on general _principle_ —and then beat some sense into Cas while he was at it.

But no, he wouldn’t. With a sigh, he got up to return his trusty tire iron back to his toolbox—no need to use it now. Because while Dean was a little shit, it was pretty clear that he was a _guilty_ little shit. Oh, he was feelin’ _real_ guilty, meaning he knew what he’d done was wrong.

 _Good._ Bobby _wanted_ him to feel guilty. He wanted Dean to feel guilty for the rest of his _damn life_ , and if Dean’s last thoughts on Earth were, “Man, I was a real dick that one time I got drunk and beat my boyfriend,” that was okay by him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blowjob, spanking—it’s all comfort sex in Cas’s mind, and all the same. Because he just. doesn’t. get it.
> 
> Next three months are another repeat of the four that followed “Free For All”, just so you know. Lots of submissive Dean, lots of girly presents, lots of silent “I’m so sorry I’m an ass, baby”’s. Cas thought everything was just _wonderful_. Bobby glared at Dean’s back every time he saw him.
> 
> As for closure, Dean never roughs Cas up like this again, no worries. He knows that was just about as wrong as it could get. There’s one last dark!fic on the horizon, but it’s an entirely different animal and isn’t until much later. You can either count this as part of the WOTW canon, or you can pretend it never happened and move on. Of course, if you do maintain it as part of the ‘verse, keep in mind—Cas pays attention during sex. He pays _very_ close attention, and so tends to get…Ideas.
> 
> In other words, Dean should probably be afraid.


End file.
